


The Life Between

by LizParker



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family, Family Bonding, Family Drama, Post-Finale, Prison, Romance, olicity - Freeform, season 6, season 7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-05-10 06:35:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 32,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14731784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizParker/pseuds/LizParker
Summary: Post S6 finale fic. Oliver is at Slabside, trying to survive, while Felicity is outside, trying to do the same."It took him the whole of his first night spent in his cell to figure it out, tossing and turning on his bunk in the dark while shutting out the cat-calls and hisses of the other inmates, passing on messages between each other and taunting the new arrivals, to realize how very mentally and emotionally unprepared he was for this when he took agent Watson’s deal."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A HUUUUUGE thanks goes to @MISSYriver for her incredible help with betaing this story – hun, you are amazing! Also, thank you for coming up with the title!! 
> 
> Another thanks goes to everybody who offered to beta for me (@lisarealist55 and @juvinadelgreko) and also the shout-outs and signal boosts from anyone (specially @felicityollies on Tumblr with the awesome accompanying gif). You people are the kindest.
> 
> I don’t think it will go down as this in the canon (probably not at all), but I did want to explore this idea and that’s exactly what fanfics are for, right?
> 
> I don’t know where Slabeside is located, but for the sake of this fic, let’s say it is somewhere reachable from Star City within a couple of hours drive. Yeah, I know, it’s a bit of a stretch, as probably many things in this fic, but hey, it’s Arrow. :) And combined with fanfiction, everything is possible, right? Anyway. Here comes. Enjoy.

 

**OLIVER**

He didn’t expect to see her here. Ever.

He has sort of pushed even the thought of such a possibility away, forbidding himself to so much as visualize it. If nothing else, he was expecting her to already have moved through half the country with his son, learning the details of their new identities together.

He certainly didn’t expect her to sit at a table in the visitation room at Slabside maximum security prison, not even a full week after his arrest, her hair combed back into a tight ponytail, her brightly painted lips pursed as she silently observes him making his way to join her at the table.

The feeling of dread fills him, because if she is here, if she is in fact _not_ in A.R.G.U.S.’s protective custody, then something must have happened to William. _And God-_

His legs almost buckle underneath him before he even reaches his chair. Something must register with her, because her hands instantly fly into the air in a placating gesture as she quickly blurts out, “He’s fine. William’s okay.”

He exhales in relief, collapses into the chair with a heavy thud, his head momentarily spinning.

“Are _you_ okay?” he asks next, eyes squinting at her. She is holding herself, arms wound tightly around her frame and jaw clenched tightly, a clear sign something is wrong.

“Yeah, Oliver, I’m great. Came to visit my newly wedded husband in the slab. Is that enough small talk? Or should we talk about the weather?”

His eyes fall shut, her words and her harsh tone are all the answer he needs.

“You’re angry,” he utters. He’s not asking. It’s a statement both of them know to be true.

“You think?” She hisses, eyes brittle and unyielding. The table between them is a couple of feet long, but she feels so distant it could be miles separating them.

“Aren’t _you_ angry?” she asks when he doesn’t offer a reply. There is deep hurt and a fair dose of disappointment in her tone, her eyes holding his in silent accusation, and he can’t blame her.

Of course he’s angry. He’s angry how it all went down, he’s angry with Diaz for pushing him so hard, but most of all, he is absolute furious with himself for making the choice that put his son and his wife in this risky and compromising position. He didn’t know another way out.

He still didn’t. This is not what he wanted for either of them.

“You didn’t even kiss me goodbye,“ Felicity whispers and it’s a lament that cuts through him like a jagged knife.

 “You didn’t say a _word_ to me, Oliver. You’ve had multiple opportunities to do so – hell, you even said your own on-the-nose versions of a goodbye to John, Dinah and freaking Renee, but you didn’t have to balls to come clean to your own wife. How do you think that makes me feel? You let me sit there and watch you be taken away in handcuffs, for crying out loud!” Her voice trembles, but her gaze is pinning him with undisputable accusation. He just sits there and takes it, because it’s the least he can do – to acknowledge the error of his ways.

Acknowledge this flaw he continues to exhibit whenever times get rough and he fails to communicate with Felicity about it.

Truth be told, he couldn’t. He might be the Green Arrow, but where his heart is concerned, where Felicity is concerned, he is a coward.

He knows, deep down, that if he had consulted her, if he discussed his plan with her, she would change his mind and he would lose all his resolve to do what needed to be done.

And there was no other way for it to be done. Diaz came after them, in their own _home_ , and if not for Anatoly, they’d all be dead by now.

There was no other way.

But when his eyes finally rise from the metal surface of the table dividing them to meet hers, the sight that meets him is a physical blow.

It shouldn’t, really. Because he knew. He knew what it would do to her and he decided to go along anyway.

It’s so painfully obvious now, how barely she is holding herself together, her whole frame is shaking like a leaf, arms tightly wound around her torso to hold herself together.

His posture crumbles, because he just can’t watch her like this and stay unaffected by the sight of her distress. He has never been immune to her, so what made him think he could face her and survive _this_?

“Felicity, I swear, I was going to tell you,” he offers, and it’s only half a lie, because he _did_ want to tell her. So damn much.

“Then why didn’t you?” her voice shakes with anger.

“Watson-” he sighs, “She- I thought she’d give me at least one night with you and William to explain properly. I didn’t know she’d come for me at the hospital. I didn’t know-” he trails off upon the stone-cold look that settles over her features.

 “Should have let that bitch die when I had the chance.”

His brows knit together, face scrunching. He’s more than a little taken aback, he’s never – _ever_ – heard Felicity speak like this about another human being. It’s not the course language, despite it being unusual, it’s not entirely unheard for her. It’s the fact she actually _means_ it.

He lets it slide, she is angry and scared, lashing out seems like the only thing making sense right now, the only thing to be in control of. There are a whole lot of other emotions bunched in there somewhere, lurking beyond that uncharacteristically stoic exterior of hers, things he can’t afford to look too closely right now. He decides to steer the conversation elsewhere instead, because there is a more pressing matter on his mind.

“I thought- I didn’t expect you to come here.”

She gives him an incredulous, scandalized look that would make another man cower. “I just- I thought we agreed you and William would go to A.R.G.U.S.’s protective custody-”

“No, Oliver!” she cuts across him sharply. “ _We_ didn’t agree on anything. It was _you_ who decided that _you_ wanted to sacrifice yourself and _you_ wanted us to leave Star City afterwards. I never agreed to any of this. And I am not letting anybody chase me out of my own home.”

Under other circumstances, alarm bells would be already ringing inside his head at what she is saying, but his brain is fried at the devastated look of disappointment she is giving him.

He knows that what he did was necessary, that with his decision, he has done right by everybody – possibly even his son – everybody, but her. His eyes study the surface of the metal table, which at the moment seems warmer than the steely coldness he just saw in her eyes.

“That said,” she continues, waiting a long moment until he lifts his gaze to hers again, “I made sure measures are put in place to ensure William’s and mine’s security. John and Lyla both made sure we are as safe as possible for the time being, at least until they catch that son-of-a-bitch Diaz,” she spits the name and his brain is slowly starting to pick up on what she is actually saying, “But you’ll be disappointed to hear our friends also agree it’s for the best that we stay where we are right now.”

He nods absentmindedly, still trying to catch up to her words, the impact of what she is saying finally starting to sink in and his jaw clenches, because he absolutely doesn’t agree, not one bit, and he makes a mental note to somehow find a way to talk to John about this, because it’s unacceptable and unthinkable for her and William to just stay in the open like this when he is stuck here, impotent to do shit about their safety.

“Please don’t make us leave,” she suddenly pleads in a small voice and the change of tone cuts through his chest like a whiplash. “I know you think that protective custody is best for us, but it’s not, Oliver. It’s _not_.” She holds his eyes, a measure of despair and fatality behind the sheen of tears she doesn’t allow to fall and the sight makes the hair on his neck stand, because if there is one thing Felicity Smoak doesn’t do, it’s plead.

“Everything I know and hold dear is in this city, Oliver. I can’t leave this all behind and run. I can’t do this to William, either. He’s started to feel comfortable here, to settle. To like school again and feel like he belongs. He has his grandparents to talk to, the _only_ real family he’s got left. I know it’s not gonna be easy now that your identity is revealed, I know it puts us more at risk, but please, don’t make me take that safety blanket away from him. He’s got nothing else left.”

 _“He has you,”_ he immediately wants to argue, but he makes himself stop and bite his tongue in time at the look of utmost despair and resignation in her eyes. Because it’s another quality he has a hard time associating with his wife – helplessness.

The burning feeling starts at the back of his eyes and quickly spreads, moisture not far behind, causing his vision to blur momentarily. She puts him to shame, his wife, and the realization that what he’s asking of her might be a little too much hits him with a force of a loaded truck.

He _needs_ them safe.

But Felicity is right that it might be worthless if they won’t be able to live their lives, if they lose who they are along the way.

He takes a deep breath and then another and okay… Okay, maybe, just maybe, if John and Lyla believe they can possibly meet somewhere in the middle on this issue, keep his family’s safety at an acceptable level without the need to have them completely uproot their lives, who is he to ask her to give up absolutely _everything_ that she knows and holds dear? Along with her identity, the comfort of her home, their friends and family?

Begrudgingly, he nods his assent, utters a single “Okay,” in defeat, but his chest burns with the spreading dread that he signed their death certificates.

It’s _her_ life, though. And no matter how protected and safe he wants (needs) them to be, he realizes that what he’s already asked of her way too much.

It took him the whole of his first night spent in his cell to figure it out, tossing and turning on his bunk in the dark while shutting out the cat-calls and hisses of the other inmates, passing on messages between each other and taunting the new arrivals, to realize how very mentally and emotionally unprepared he was for this when he took agent Watson’s deal. He didn’t really have time to ponder all the aspects his unilateral – and highly desperate – deal would bring not only him, but his wife and son. He thought…well he didn’t. He wanted to see them safe. Now he wishes he had taken the time, wishes that for a single moment, he would have tried to look at things from the perspective of the people he was trying to protect by pushing his choices on them.

“I am sorry,” he utters, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes, spitting out words through clenched teeth because he has a hard time keeping his voice even. “I am so sorry, Felicity. I couldn’t see another way.” In fact, he still can’t, and that feels even more crippling. “I am sorry that I’ve put you into this position.” He pulls his hands down, forces his eyes to meet hers, it’s the least she deserves and he knows that for all of his sincere apologies, they are not gonna do her any good.

She sits there, resignedly watching him, looking small and tired, the weight of the world weighting on her shoulders. And yet, she still sits here – _here_ , with her head held high and he honestly doesn’t know how she does it.

“I am sorry too,” she utters back after a long moment, her voice suddenly soft. “I am sorry that you are here, Oliver. And I am sorry that it all came down to a situation where you felt you had no other choice than to sacrifice your own life to save your home and keep your loved ones safe.”

There is too much tenderness in her look, too much knowledge, her piercing gaze one he’s been on the receiving end a million of times over, the _I-know-times-are-rough-but-were-are-in-this-together_ look, and despite he knows it isn’t, it still feels like absolution. He takes a big gulp of air as his chest suddenly loosens and expands with a breath he didn’t know he wasn’t taking.

Her arms finally unwind from their position of holding her frame, one hand falling to the table and sliding across the surface in search for his own, but before he can even reach for it-

“No touching!” The guard’s voice is far sharper and louder than necessary, bouncing off of the concrete and metal of the room and Felicity visibly flinches, her hand instantaneously retracting into her lap as she darts frightened eyes at the guard.

The anger that seizes Oliver is immediate and all-consuming, he’s sure there is no actual rule prohibiting inmates and their visitors – their _spouses_ – from touching each other. Apparently, vigilantes are unpopular with criminals and law officers equally. 

But more importantly, nobody, absolutely _nobody_ is allowed to intimidate his wife in such a way.

It dawns on Oliver on how vulnerable he put himself and his wife. Despite his anger, there is not a thing he can do about the situation.

He grits his teeth, focuses on Felicity instead, because it still feels kind of surreal to actually having her here, sitting across from him, so close and yet so impossibly unreachable.

“I love you,” he murmurs, it’s the only truth left to him. And really, how can he not? He just single-handedly turned his wife’s whole life upside down and yet she is sitting here, trying to reach for him across a metal prison table.

One corner of her mouth flicks slightly upwards, and he considers it a win. “I know. And I love you too, Oliver. But God help me, you seriously need to start working on your savior complex of yours,” she deadpans.

He barks out a surprised laugh, shaking his head at her because _only her_ , only Felicity Smoak has the power to draw a smile from him under the most horrible of circumstances.

The slow, knowing smile she gives him in return ignites his whole chest aflame, and it is so familiar, so intimate. In that moment, nothing else exists in the world but the two of them.

Before he realizes, their time is up and she reluctantly pushing back to her feet, her hands hanging limply at her sides.

“I’ll be back in next week,” she promises, and the look she gives him leaves no room for argument.

His heart skips a beat, despite all his bravado talk about protective custody and leaving him behind, he _does_ want to see her, selfishly holding her – and by her proxy his son too –close and have her in any capacity he can. For a long time now, there has been no question that he simply can’t do this “ _living_ ” thing without her.

“Does that mean I am forgiven?” he throws back in a light tone, he needs to see her smile just one more time before she goes.

She cocks her head to the side, considering him, pondering his question with serious eyes, and he knows it was the wrong move, knowing instantly he would get back more than he bargained for with that single good-natured jibe.

“No, Oliver,” she answers gravely. “This is not something that can be forgiven easily. You single-handedly took the liberty to decide the fate of not only you, but me and William. I’ve told you time and again that that’s not how a relationship, no less a _marriage_ is supposed to work, but you went with it anyway.”

His eyes fall to the table, because there is nothing to say to that.

“But we are married. And I knew exactly what I was saying yes to when I married you.” Her voice is quiet and measured, so unusual to her familiar flair. It’s a causal statement, as if her words are no big deal. As if they don’t hold the power to break him with equal amount of love and shame. “Which means I will have to find a way to come to terms with this. But you have to give me time,” she cautions, and he vigorously nods his head. Time is the only thing he can offer her right now anyway.

“But I am not going anywhere, if that’s what you are wondering,” she adds softy, lowering her head to catch his gaze, her eyes shining certainty and resolve as it purposefully holds his, telling him everything he needs to know through that single gentle look alone and air still in his chest.

She is truly remarkable, his wife. Crazily smart, funny and fierce. With the kindest, warmest heart beating in her chest.

He will never understand how he got so lucky.

And as she turns to leave, the shriek of the heavy metal door falling shut behind her, cold dread settles in the pit of Oliver’s stomach. He can’t imagine how he’s ever supposed to make this right.

 

** FELICITY **

 

The light cracks through the half-drawn blinds, early sunlight spilling into the bedroom and bathing the sheets in warm, yellow glow. Felicity’s eyes crack open, one by one, and with a tired hand, she deactivates the alarm clock sitting on the bedside table long before it has the opportunity to fulfil its job to actually wake her.

She doesn’t need an alarm clock these days, walking the fine line between half-sleeping and half-waking through life. Or the nightmare that her life has recently become.

She rolls out from bed, tiredly stumbling her way to the bathroom.

She never throws a single glance at the other side of the bed, knowing she would only meet the heartbreaking coldness of empty sheets. God knows she has made that mistake more than an embarrassing amount of times before the truth has finally started to sink in.

Her husband was never coming home.

She goes about her business, wincing at the sight that greets her in the mirror. Her eyes are dull, their usual animated blue dimmed to a watery, washed-out stare. Her face is slack, paler than usual. Her roots are starting to show, screaming at her to do something about the amount of dark spreading through her scalp. She needs to make an appointment, but she hasn't got around to it, kept pushing it back, and who can really blame her?  The last couple of weeks have been-- Yeah.

_Frak._

Her eyes fall away from her image, cheeks flushing with shame and frustration at herself and okay, okay, she can do this, she decides while brushing her teeth with a little more force than necessary. She is an adult and she can very well pick up the stupid phone and call Lucy, her hairdresser, to come and dye her stupid hair. She doesn’t even have to go out, Lucy will make a house call. She throws another quick glance in the mirror, her forehead wrinkling in distaste at half the inch of dark staining the vibrant blonde and okay, okay.

It’s a plan.

Glad to have decided on at least one mundane but necessary task for today, she feels better about herself and spends a fair amount of time applying her make-up, a slightly thicker layer than usual going under her eyes, because God, she desperately needs it.

Brushing her hair back into her tight, trademark ponytail and choosing a simple grey cotton dress, she looks at herself in the mirror, surprised she looks-- _normal_. She is starting to look like herself.

For some reason, it surprises her, looking normal when everything else is so obviously wrong. She takes a deep, shuddering breath, her hands clasping together. The coldness of her wedding band sends a jolt of awareness through her but she refuses to let it bring her down.

Morning. Breakfast. William.

Right.

Time to face the music.

* * *

 

By the time her stepson emerges from his room – his new room they spend the last couple of weeks furnishing, decorating and tailoring to his tastes – and walks down the steps to the lofts kitchen, she already has the eggs and bacon on the table, toasts ready to be put into the toaster.

She is _not_ hopeless in the kitchen as Oliver made her out to be. Well, okay, she is. But she is smart enough to be able to at least learn how to cook or fry stupid eggs and bacon for one hungry teenage boy without burning down the kitchen.

Breakfast is important.

So she makes a point learning how to do it properly. She is not Gordon Ramsay, but William always polishes off his plate without any complaints. So there, she is an accomplished cook now, apparently. Ha! Something to gloat to Oliver the next time he teases her about her cooking skills.

The thought of him is immediate, so shockingly longed-for, that she stops mid-movement while putting the toasts into the toaster. Her hands give a slight tremor, still frozen, her vision blurring on its own volition.

“Felicity?” William asks with genuine concern from behind her back, reaching out to touch her shoulder, standing shocking close to her. He’s a sneaky silent thing, much like his father.

She gulps down the lump, quickly forces the bread into the toaster before plastering a smile onto her face and turns to the boy – well, young man – standing uneasily in front of her, his hands tightly clasped in front of him.

“Good morning, William,” she says good naturedly, not leaving him any room to escape before enveloping him in warm hug. “Sleep well?”

Unsurprisingly, he returns the hug, nodding against the crook of her shoulder and Felicity can feel a tiny smile stretch against the side of her neck.

It’s still new, this domesticity between the two of them without the buffer of Oliver. But she genuinely loves this boy, with all of her heart, and she has a feeling it’s mutual.

She doesn’t even realize how much she needed the hug until it’s over and William awkwardly, a little embarrassedly, extracting himself from within the circle of her arms.

“Morning,” he utters shyly, his hands disappearing into the pockets of his jeans, cheeks staining a nice shade of red and oh God, could this kid be any cuter?

The answering smile she gives him is completely genuine this time, because really, out of all the things she thought would be hardest doing alone, taking care of William is not one of them.

The toaster whooshes, throwing out the bread, and she quickly turns to collect the pieces from the counter. Stupid thing always does that.

“Eggs and bacon are on the table, grab a glass of juice from the fridge, okay?” she calls over her shoulder, hissing when she burns her fingers on the hot toast.

“You want some too?” Williams asks but doesn’t wait for the answer as he takes out two glasses from the cabinet, pouring them both one.

It’s a dance they perfected over the past couple of weeks, a morning ritual that still feels a bit strange but shockingly comforting.

“Thank you,” she says with a smile, bringing the toasts to the table and they both sit down.

“So, what’s on your schedule today?” she asks easily, taking a sip of her juice, quietly listening to William listing all the things that await him in school, animatedly talking about a project he is currently working on.

She listens, nodding here and there, offering her input, but other than that, she lets him talk, marveling at his animated speech, only a little bit jealous of how enthusiastic he can be about his day when she already dreads her own.

Yet she continues to smile, even laughs a little with him, because it looks like Sarah Eppstein finally got what was coming to her – the little cheat – and with a start Felicity realizes that somehow during the past couple of weeks, this part of the day has become her most favorite one.

* * *

 

She drives William to school, occasionally checking the now familiar black Escalade in her rearview mirror the two A.R.G.U.S. agents use to accompany them everywhere these days and as she drops William off, smiling and giving him a slight wave of her fingers as she watches him disappear inside the building. Glancing back into the rearview mirror as she pulls away from the curb, she is glad to see the car’s keeping its distance, secretly hoping William to be unaware of its presence and how closely they are being monitored. It would be a little too on the nose having two specially trained federal agents drop him off at school every day and wouldn't help his school cred, not that it's worth much these days.

A sigh leaves her lips when her eyes meet a familiar sight at the lawn in front of the main building, a pair of gossiping mothers not so subtly pointing in her direction and heads together whispering, no doubt sharing a very juicy scoop on her husband's very recent public bombastic unmasking.  
  
It's not a question of whether the talk is bad. She had some people approach and tell her they supported Oliver, that they didn’t agree with him being put behind bars; that his actions as the Green Arrow have somehow helped them in one way or another, which – if she is honest – is always a nice touch. And a nice change from the openly rude and pointed remarks she gets from the rest.  
  
It's more that they dare to approach her at all that's frustrating Felicity, the open speculations on hers and God-forbid even Williams involvement in his father’s actions and it's another thing she adds to _Felicity-Smoak’s-long-list-of-not-fairs_ , because while the FBI’s immunity deal stayed under wraps and everybody else has gotten away with keeping their identity a secret, her own – and so far very private life – has been suddenly blown up and splattered across the pages of every damn tabloid in the city. It feels like she can't go anywhere these days without looks and whispers following her everywhere, and frankly, she is so fed up with it she could scream.  
  
And that’s just her. She doesn't even want to think about how it must be for William. High-school is a hellish place even without having your dad publicly unmasked as a vigilante.

She'd offered him a change of schools, even suggested a private tutor if he chose not interact with his peers at this stage – “At least until things settle, Will.” – before they looked at options of his public schooling again.  
  
But William is his father’s son in more ways than she originally anticipated, stubbornly claiming he wants to stay where he is, pointing out the few actual friends he has managed to make through the year (a former bully, no less, which always brings a smirk to Felicity’s face, because it's such an Oliver thing to do), and braves on every single day.  
  
She is damn proud of him it steals her breath away, and it gets her every time, how quickly and completely she fell for this silent, sensitive and exceptionally bright boy.  
  
It makes her wonder how different Oliver's life could have turned out if he had a slightly different upbringing.  
  
It didn't matter now, though.  
  
Everything he's done, everything that's happened to him, influenced him, drove him – good and bad – lead him right here, from the Hood to the Green Arrow and ultimately to her.  
  
And though life feels pretty shitty right now, she couldn't feel any regrets.  
  
Well, Oliver meeting Ra's al Ghul’s scimitar she could definitely live without, but everything else.

Before she knows it, she is pulling the car into her building’s parking garage. Climbing from the driver’s seat, she intentionally doesn’t let herself wonder how on earth she could have spent the last twenty minutes so completely lost in her own mind.

* * *

By the time she walks into the loft again, Curtis is already there, furiously typing away at one of their multiple workstations set up in the living room.

Looking around more closely –  today is the day to realize all the unflattering truths about her life as of recent – she takes in the state of the place and admits that it’s a mess.

Papers, pens and pieces of various equipment in various stages of development are scattered on every available surface and she can’t even remember when’s the last time she actually cleaned the place up.

She realizes with a wince, she should rearrange the space a little so it resembles a living room more suitable to accommodate William and his teenage needs of home-entertainment. Damn, she meant to do that, she hadn't gotten to it yet.

She sighs.

Like so many other things.

Remembering to cross at least one thing off her ever growing to-do list, she picks up her phone and calls Lucy while she makes herself a cup of coffee, finally fixing a date to dye her hair and feeling marginally better for it after she hangs up.

She heads back to Curtis, who’s already on a spiral about the newest batch of ideas he’s come up last night (in his sleep, the lucky bastard), and she forces herself to listen to what he has to say this time instead of offering him her usual “ _Ohs_ ” and “ _Uhms_ ” and “ _That’s-an-interesting-ideas_ ”.

Falling into her work, into the familiarity of it, helps to easy some of the ache that’s taken constant residence in her ribcage for the past couple of weeks. Her work, at least, is something she actually has control over.

* * *

That night, when she lays down to sleep alone in a bedroom, she turns to his side, empty as it is, and hugs his pillow to her chest. It’s pathetic really, it’s not even _his_ pillow; they haven’t shared this bed in over six months.

She feels the heavy press of tears at the back of her eyes, the pressure of the day searching for a way to let them go, but she doesn’t, if the past weeks have taught her anything, it’s that tears don’t resolve anything.

So she lays there staring into the darkness, willing sleep to come and claim her, offer her a few hours of respite, but as per usual, there is too much swirling in her overactive brain to allow her to rest. And among all the swirling thoughts, one returns ever more often.

_She can’t do this._

Every morning she tells herself she can. She only has to put one foot in front of the other, survive the day by taking care of William, putting on the façade for him as well as the rest of her friends along with the rest of the world and pretend to have it all together, because that’s who she’s supposed to be, that’s who they all expect to see when they look at her.

Until one day, it may not feel like a struggle. One day, she’ll go through the motions without feeling as if she has to force herself to do this while all she wants to do is to crawl miserably into a nearest dark corner and let herself fall apart.

Because her husband, her partner, her very best friend, is in _prison_. And he might never come home.

The thought alone, of what it means for her, a scary and lonely path ahead of her, is really the thing that steals her sleep from her every night. The crushing responsibility she feels towards Oliver, to keep William and herself safe and happy, it’s a responsibility she doesn’t know how to shoulder. And she hasn’t even allowed herself to think about the long run.

She swore she would never be this girl. Never be her mother, a single parent left to fend for herself with no emotional support or backup plan, living one day to the other with sand constantly shifting under her feet.

The past few weeks has brought a striking clarity and understanding for Felicity, and it was a harsh and brutal lesson. She has finally walked in her mother’s shoes and she can see the haunch of insanity that comes with the knowledge of being single-handedly responsible for another human being – a _child_ nonetheless.

Suddenly the cocktail dresses and flimsy outfits, the flirtatious and silly, almost childish behavior? It doesn’t matter in the great scheme of things. If that was her mom’s way of coping with the daily crushing weight of this kind of responsibility, it is certainly a small price to pay.

Only, Felicity’s husband hasn’t actually left her. Not willingly. He is gone because he wanted to protect her and his son, protect his friends and this city.

And look what it got him. So much for the benefit of saving people’s lives.

She wishes he was here. She wishes he would tell her, “ _Hey, hon, I know things have been tough lately, but it’s all gonna work out_ ,“ “ _Hold on a little while longer for me, okay?_ “ “ _We’ve faced far worse things together and we always, always made it through._ “ “ _I love you._ “ “ _You are one of the strongest people I know._ ”

But she doesn’t feel strong right now. And he is not here to prove her otherwise. He may never be again.

The only words they can exchange these days are half-ushered statements filled with double meaning, because they can never really know who might be listening. Every word they say is listened to, monitored and examined, because that’s how life in prison works.

She had to claw and scratch and threaten her way to be even be able to execute her marital right of her weekly visits and it’s still not enough. How could it ever be enough?

They are supposed to have a life together. Not this farce, not this dangling hope that maybe one day – but most probably never – she might never have him home and in her bed again.

It’s just not fair and the bitterness and injustice of it threatens to choke her every night.

Because Oliver Queen is a good man. An honorable man. A man who risked and sacrificed his life so his family and friends could stay free and the people of this city safe. And everybody around her is going on with their lives, continuing as if nothing happened, as if this was completely _acceptable_ that Oliver takes all the blame and throws his life away.

It makes living this reality that much harder.

She glances at the clock on her bedside table, the time shining in big red letters at her, but she doesn’t have to wear her glasses to know it’s again way past any reasonable time to go to bed. Turning on her back tiredly, she gazes at the ceiling, willing her racing mind to quiet down enough to allow her the few hours of oblivion she desperately needs.

She had never needed another human to simply breathe. She’s always been fine on her own. But then Oliver Queen happened and now she can’t imagine a life without him; the lonely nights, take-out dinners and cold sheets where his squinting, sleep-rumpled features should be kissing her good morning.

She is _this_ person now. The wife desperately in love with her husband, close and yet so far out of her reach. She is the parent of a child whom she loves dearly, fiercely, but whose own mother has died not even a year ago only to have his father taken away from him too.

How in the world is she supposed to fix that? Certainly not on her own.

So she lies there, in the middle of the night, scrubbing her hands over her face in frustration, forcibly willing her mind to shut up and let her sleep. But even as her mind finally stills and there is a quiet lull to her swirling thoughts, an image is conjured up behind her closed lids, unbidden and haunting, Oliver lying somewhere in the darkness behind a set of impenetrable, metal walls, vulnerable and unprotected, and as alone as her.

She is worried about his safety. A big chunk of the Slabside cells are occupied by familiar faces, people he helped put behind bars. Every day is filled with dread, that impossible anticipation of the inevitable and unimaginable; the call that will tell her Oliver’s luck has run out and they need her to come to collect her husband’s body.

It still feels surreal, even after all these weeks, that this is what her life has come to – holding her breath and waiting for the call to announce it’s definitely and irrevocably over.

She doesn’t want this life. This is not the life she’s signed up for. She can’t be a widow and a single parent before she even turns thirty.

But it’s the life she has.

Wake up. Go through the motions. Stop. Repeat.

Until one day, maybe it won’t hurt quite so much.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second part of my finale fic – Oliver, Felicity and William are trying to adjust to their new normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the beta @MISSYriver. A betas whose work is often overlooked but essential to almost any story.

**FELICITY**

Felicity's had enough.

She is tired of having to look at her husband's black and blue face, is sickened by his limping gait as he tries to smile through the cut on his lip, trying to assure her.

It had been less than a month and Oliver's already been jumped and beaten three times in the past two weeks. And not just any regular beatings either, but full-blown targeted attacks aiming to maim or outwardly kill him. Reading about them in the detached, clinical tone of the prison's incident and medical records had her stomach heaving with fear and disgust.

Of course, she had to do something. There is no way he would last much longer in this state. Just because he was incarcerated didn't mean it was open season on his life. No matter if her husband was a criminal – which he was not, by her standards at least – he had a right to serve out his sentence unharmed.

And because nobody was doing a single thing about it, Felicity took the task upon herself.

The Warden is a tall, muscular man in his fifties. A little loose around the middle, since his desk job doesn't require physical activity, but she knows he has a background in the military. From what Felicity has gathered, he is a strict and by-the-book but overall decent man. He is also stubborn and arrogant as hell and nothing Felicity has said in the past couple of minutes has really sunken in.

Warden Henderson only gives her a slightly impatient and exasperated sigh at her last complaint, but when he addresses her from behind his heavy wooden desk, he keeps his tone even and placating. Which serves to infuriate Felicity further.

"I understand your concerns, Mrs. Queen-"

"It's Smoak." Felicity cuts across icily, "I kept my name."

She doesn't even know why it is important to assert the fact she had kept her own name, maybe it's important she be viewed as her own person. Or maybe it has to do with the fact the Warden addressed her like another overbearing wife of an inmate he is forced to placate on a regular basis.

Which is a blatant lie, because Felicity had to scratch and claw her way in to get a meeting with the Warden, so she knows this is far from a regular occurrence. The only way she would see the Warden was to threaten the prison board with lawyers, lawsuits and going public with cruelty to inmates. She didn't care at this point and was willing to do anything to finally get her a visit.

A visit that hasn't yielded any results so far.

"Okay. Miss Smoak, then," Warden Henderson concedes amicably. It doesn't make her feel any better, he still clearly doesn't understand the gravity of her visit. "I'll be blunt. I don't know what kind of summer camp you think we are running here, but this is a supermax prison. And inmates get into conflicts or fights. Accidents happen-"

"You call what's happening to my husband accidents? I might not be a DOC officer but even I know it's not normal when one of your charges spends more time in the infirmary than in his cell block."

"I understand that you, as his wife, are upset-"

" _Excuse me_?! How could I not be upset?!"

"Miss Smoak-"

"He's been here less than a month and he already has three broken ribs, six lacerations that needed more than five stitches each, a hairline fracture to his wrist and a concussion. And that's only stating the injuries he has been treated for. If you actually took the time and looked at the state of him, you might be _upset_ at what has been going on in your own prison as well."

His eyes narrow at her and Felicity doesn't like the sheen of suspicion glinting in his dark irises. "Those are very specific facts you stated, Miss Smoak. I am not aware our prison gives out detailed information about inmate's medical health."

_Frak._

Realizing that in her fury she let it slip she had information she wasn't supposed to know – information she illegally pulled from his prison medical records – she backpedals immediately.

Taking a calming breath, her tone lowers to cold steel. "Warden, I am sure you are aware inmates are allowed to make phone calls. As I am sure you have someone monitoring those phone calls. My husband and I have a close relationship and we share information."

She finishes with an off-hand shrug, but inwardly she shakes like a leaf about her stupid slip. Because if the Warden pulls the phone recordings – recordings that very much exists for each and every inmate in this place – she's screwed.

Oliver hasn't as much as uttered a single word to her during their evening calls, but she could always hear it in his voice anyway, something was off. She saw the bruises, she saw how tenderly he was holding himself, and it broke her heart when he wouldn't speak about it even as she understood why he wouldn't. Yet she needed to know. So she pulled his prison file, quickly finding not just one but a wide number of incidents involving her husband.

She hadn't even been informed. Apparently, if your life isn't threatened on a regular basis, the family doesn't need to know.

She saw Oliver go through all kind of things during the six years she knew him and is aware there is so much more she has yet to know about the five years that preceded that but reading through the files and see with her own eyes what was happening to him now, in the care of state, after all he has done for the people of Star City, leaves her sick to the stomach. Not only what actually happens to him, physically, but that it is clearly tolerated by the staff.

She holds the Wardens gaze, lets her anger and distaste show, her gaze like steel as she waits for the result of her gamble with bated breath.

The Warden looks at her for a second more, then lets is pass with a subconscious wave of his hand. "Anyway, miss Smoak," at least he gets her name right, this time, "I understand your husband's situation doesn't look good from the outside. But you have to understand that this is not a nice place and people who end up here are hardened criminals who are sent here to serve their punishments. Ex-billionaire or mayor aside, your husband is now one of them and we have to treat him the same way as any other inmate. As my late mamma used to say, don't lie with dogs if you don't want to catch fleas."

The hot flash of fury momentarily leaves Felicity speechless. And afraid. Because if this is how the Warden, the number one man of this facility, looks at the problem, then Oliver is done.

She's made enough of a background check on Henderson to know he is clean. He is not a bad man, per se, just an ignorant one, too self-assured and bigheaded to see the heart of the issue. With this attitude, he might just as well be dirty, but either way, it gets her husband killed.

She momentarily wishes she found dirt on him, getting herself some leverage. It would be so much easier.

There is one more bargaining chip she has, but it's a huge gamble, playing on the man's integrity and pride, a trait that has come up quite often when she read his reports from his military academy days up until his last mental assessment for his promotion as Warden at Slabside.

She is not stupid, she's done her homework. But even if it's a gamble she'd rather not use, the man doesn't give her much choice.

"With all due respect, Warden, you and I both know that what is happening to my husband behind the walls of your prison is not the simple doing of inmates."

She strikes a nerve because he takes a surprised breath, eyes narrowing, grip tightening on the pen he is holding.

"Miss Smoak, what exactly are you insinuating here?" His voice is quiet and somewhat threatening, yet even as he speaks, his eyes cut to the CO present in the room with them – the one who has escorted her in – before they quickly return back to her.

Her eyes never waver from his, one eyebrow slowly rising in challenge, letting him know she means every single word.

Without taking his eyes off her, the Warden speaks to the CO. "Officer Scott, could you please wait outside for Miss Smoak?" Scott leaves the room within seconds and they are left alone.

"Okay, Miss Smoak, I am listening."

Felicity hasn't really planned on this situation, but she's finally – finally – got the Warden's full attention, and she is not letting the chance go.

"Warden, with all due respect, we both know these are not random attacks or typical inmate brawls that get quickly broken apart by guards on site. As you very correctly stated, this is a supermax prison, so not a single thing happens here without your guard's knowledge. If anybody as much as makes a move, they are there within seconds with their firearms trained on the inmate's head. And yet, my husband's body is marred with fresh burns and cut marks that mean-" her voice quivers, stomach rolling, "he's clearly been subject to prolonged torture while being inside. Don't you dare telling me your guards don't know. Just as bad, if they truly don't, then I ask you, what kind of shop are you running here?" She throws his own words at him before she delivers her last blow, "And even worse, what kind of shop are you running here if they do?"

And finally – finally – something registers on his face, a slight twitch in his jaw, his eyes grave on her, pondering her words.

"Don't let anything happen to my husband you could have easily prevented, Warden, because God help me, there won't be much left of this place once I am through with you."

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It's way past lunch when she collapses – bone-deep tired – onto the sofa at the loft, dropping her feet to the coffee table, head falling at the back of the couch. She's left early for Slabside, in fact so early it was Raisa who had to bring William to school that morning, and she is dead on her feet. Her visit with the Warden and the seven hours spent in the car didn't help the massive budding headache that's been threatening the past couple of days and she can feel it finally starting at the back of her head, creeping up her neck to pound inside her skull.

A shadow falls over her face, a presence looming over her and she gives a start before she realizes it's Curtis, his large frame hovering over the couch.

"Geez, Curtis, you nearly gave me a heart attack."

He frowns. "Sorry, I thought you were aware I was here."

And yeah, no. She wasn't. But she should. Of course he is here; he freaking works here.

"Sorry," she murmurs, but he waves her apologies away, walking around the couch and dropping down onto the table near her feet.

"Here," he offers her a mug of steaming coffee and God – _yes_ – coffee! She grabs for it, takes a hasty gulp before her tired brain makes the necessary connection and with her mouth already burned, she spits the coffee back into the mug.

"Frach! What the ‘ell, ‘urtis!?" she curses, using her hand to fan her tongue.

"Well, I wasn't- You just went for- I mean, it was pretty obvious the coffee was-" Curtis looks lost and more than a little scared of her and okay, okay, she might be overreacting a little but she just had a terrible morning and she could really use an easy day. Doesn't mean she has to vent her frustrations on Curtis, though.

"Never mind," she waves away his concern, sighing. She puts the mug on the table, massaging her cramped up calves as she waits for the coffee to cool.

She absolutely hates driving.

Curtis is silently observing her, concern written all over his face. "So how did it go at Slabside?"

Anger and frustration burn hot and fresh again. "To be honest, I have no idea if I got anywhere with the Warden. I mean, yeah, he looked like he would give Oliver's situation a thought, but for all I know, his assurances could have been merely that – empty promises. At least he seemed to ponder what I said about the guard's involvement, so I guess I should be thankful for that, right?" even she can hear the bitterness in her tone. "I don't know. We will have to see if anything changes or-"

She doesn't finish, because she doesn't need to. If nothing changes, sooner or later, she will be picking up her husband in a body bag.

Her eyes fall shut and she lets her calves be, her back hitting the couch again. The tiredness and sudden despair force tears she absolutely won't let fall into her eyes. "I, uhm…"

Curtis's fingers close around her wrist in quiet support, and she lets him, even if it's not what she needs right now. What she needs is the assurance her husband is gonna be okay, something no one can give her however, so she has to settle for what she gets.

They sit there in silence for quite a while. Felicity tries to regain her composure and wills the headache to go away, her eyes closed so she doesn't have to look at Curtis, unable to withstand the look she's sure she would find in his eyes now.

She detests pity. Pity has never solved anything.

Her phone rings and she is glad for the interruption, until she sees the caller ID. She picks up on the second ring, her heart picking up its pace.

"Hello?...Yes, this is she."

Her eyes close shut, her other hand plastering over her face and she is this close to groan loudly, because come-fucking-on.

"Is he okay?" she asks tensely, gives a couple nods and grunts of agreement. "Alright. I'll be there as soon as I can," she finishes tersely before finishing the call.

She looks at the screen for a long time after the call has ended, until Curtis's soft inquiry brings her out of her reverie.

"That was William's school. I have to go pick him up." She offers no more and Curtis must see she is close to her breaking point, because he doesn't prod any further.

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The drive takes her twenty minutes. Twenty minutes she spends fortifying herself for whatever she is about to encounter while wondering how much more until she can't take any more.

She tries to prepare herself, but she is not prepared for what awaits her at the other side of the principal's office door.

"Oh my God!" She lets out in horror, crossing the room in a few quick strides towards William, who is sitting in a chair across the principal's desk, looking small and absolutely miserable. She reaches for him but he flinches back, so she lets her hands hover over the sides of his head, hesitant to touch.

"What the hell happened to your face?"

It's black and blue, one eye completely closed shut, dried blood covering his shirt from what appears to be a mangled nose and a split lip.

"Mrs Queen," she hears the principal's voice from behind her and God help her, if one more person calls her Mrs Queen today, it will be the last thing they ever do.

"It's Smoak," she says furiously, turning her head to fix the principal with a stern look. The woman, at least, has the decency to look flustered. "I am sorry miss Smoak-"

"How could you have let this happen?" Felicity fumes before she looks back to William, checking him for more injuries.

"I am sorry, Felicity," William hesitates in a small voice, the single eye she can see turned downwards, but she won't have any of it. With her hands still framing William's head protectively, her head swivels to address the principal over her shoulder.

"He was perfectly fine when he left this morning. School is supposed to be a safe place-"

"Miss Smoak-"

"Felicity-"

"-and this is how you return my kid to me at the end of the day?" She is seething.

"Miss Smoak!" this time, the principal's voice doesn't leave room for an argument and she finally falls silent. "I am not happy about the situation either, but you need to know it was William who started the fight."

Her mind goes blank for the shortest of moments, before a shocked chuckle leaves her lips, "No way!" she defends, "That's not William! He'd never-"

But even as she says it, William is tugging on her hands, calling her name urgently, his voice muffled as he obviously has trouble breathing through his nose, "I did, Felicity. I did punch first."

Her mouth falls open at that, her eyes landing on William in disbelief and no small amount of disappointment and then back to the principal, who is looking at Felicity like they are finally getting somewhere.

"Oh," she utters.

"Miss Smoak, would you now be so kind and sit down so we can talk about this like adults? I understand you are upset-" an understatement of the century, "-but as you surely know, the school takes violence between students very seriously. I understand you and William are going through a difficult time at the moment, but we really need to discuss how this kind of behavior is absolutely unacceptable."

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A week's suspension.

Could have been so much worse, but still.

Felicity can't remember the last time she felt so humiliated in her life. Sitting in a school principal's office and being reprimanded for her own kid picking up a fight felt like the most surreal dream, the situation surely somewhere at the top of her never-gonna-happen-to-me list.

She hasn't said a single word since leaving the school, partly as punishment to William and partly because she doesn't want to deal with him until she gets her emotions under her grip again and comes up with a reasonable plan on how to proceed with this.

But holy fuck, her step-son has picked a fight at school.

The school nurse has assured her William was okay, that it looked worse than it was, nothing was broken and the swelling would go down overnight before she pressed a bag of ice into William's hands and send them on their way, the boy docile behind Felicity, head hanged and the bag of ice pressed against his battered face, while she just wanted to scream right there in the middle of the parking lot.

But she didn't.

And she kept completely silent ever since, her hands gripping the wheel and eyes trained on the road, only occasionally eyeing William from the corner of her eye but otherwise not acknowledging his presence because really, of all the things that could have happened, William turning to his fists instead of his head was the last thing she expected.

It was so unlike him, so out of character, that apart from the anger, Felicity is more confused than anything.

She is not equipped for this. She has been a step-mom less than a year and already she is raising the boy on her own. She has no skills whatsoever to deal with a situation like this.

And yet, here they are.

Arriving home – thank God Curtis made himself scarce, for he is nowhere to be seen – she goes for the simpler task, walking straight to the freezer and taking out a bag of frozen peas. She silently directs William to come sit on the bar stool in the kitchen and he goes without a word, his eyes – well, one eye – still trained on the ground.

He looks just about how she feels. Which says something, because he looks absolutely desolate, the many inches he's grown since the two of them met painfully obvious as he hunches in his seat so they can be at eye-level.

She takes the now melted bag of ice from his limp hands and throws it into the sink, replacing it with the peas gently pressed over his closed eye while her other hand slowly pokes and prodds William's face, wanting to assess the damage for herself.

The scene is eerily familiar to Felicity, and yet so very foreign. Because William is a child and despite the fact that she's patched up his dad enough times to know William's is going to be okay, it feels all sorts of wrong.

William hisses and groans occasionally, but otherwise stays still, as if accepting his punishment, his single eye looking at her guiltily from behind his long lashes. He is miserable, she can tell, and something inside her melts further at the devastated look in his face.

"I am so sorry," he whimpers, the words barely making it past his lips and before Felicity knows what's happening, William is crying with his face pressed against the crook of her neck, his whole frame shaking with sobs.

"I am sorry," he hiccups, "I didn't mean to!"

William sobs and Felicity instantly pulls him closer, cradling his wiry frame to her, a little shocked and definitely at a loss as to what to do with him.

She thought she would need to play the tough-parent card today, but it looks like William is beating himself up enough as it is and things might not be as simple as that.

Felicity cradles him some more, swaying with him on the spot. She lets him have this moment and only after he's somewhat composed does she lead him to the couch to talk.

"Wanna tell me what happened?" she asks him in a quiet yet grave voice.

His look is so pure, so honest, regret swimming behind his eyes, and in that moment, he reminds her so much of Oliver, it steals her breath away. "I deserved it. I punched first."

"Okay." She exhales, her voice shaky. She reaches out, her hand caressing his shoulder, then following the path of his arm until her hand slips into his, offering comfort while trying to win some time finding the right words to respond.

"First of all, I don't care that you punched first, the way your face looks, you definitely didn't deserve a response like that."

For a moment, Oliver's own black and blue face from two weeks ago swims to her mind, but she quickly pushes the image away.

"Secondly, it doesn't really explain why you felt the need to punch anybody. I thought you knew better than that, Will," she offers in gentle reproach, cocking her head to the side to catch his eyes.

"I just wanted them to stop."

"Stop who? Doing what?" she prods.

"There is this group at school. They like to follow me around, corner me somewhere and then taunt me. They talk awful things about dad, about how prison might be for him, about how he deserves it. How he is a murderer and how I am going to turn out just like him."

"Oh, Will," she can't help herself, this time her hands reach up to cradle his face. "I am sorry, hunny. But I thought we talked about this. I told you, we could change schools, you could get home-schooled-"

"But that's not what I want!" He argues a little too forcefully, hands clenching into fists as he tries to get his frustration under control and Felicity's hands fall away. "That's what cowards do," he adds stubbornly.

What she hears, though, is: _This is not what my father would have done_. She doesn't like the sound of it.

"Okay, fair enough." She says, letting it slide and forcing a breath through her nose. She knows better than to argue with a teenager, so she goes for the obvious heart of the problem instead.

"But you obviously can't go around school beating up your schoolmates. There are always going to be mean kids, there are always going to be people who make it their mission in life to make your own harder."

"I know!" William cries impatiently. "I just wanted to see if dad was right."

The cogs in her head come to a screeching halt. "What? Right about what?"

William looks distinctly uncomfortable when he finally spills the beans. "Dad once told me, that if anybody was bothering me, I should go for the biggest guy in the group and punch him in the nose and the whole group would leave me alone."

She gawks at William, her voice rising and octave as she let out a disbelieving screech. "Oliver did what!?"

She is going to kill that idiot of a husband herself.

"I just thought I would give it a try," William says, shrugging helplessly.

"Doesn't look like it worked out for you, did it?" Felicity asks coldly.

"He was big. My punch didn't even cause a nosebleed. Before I knew, he was pushing me to the ground and pummeling my face," William admits with a fair dose of embarrassment.

She doesn't know whether to laugh or to cry. She feels like both.

"Will, honey, since when is taking interpersonal advice from your dad a good idea? I hate to tell you, but your dad's idea of dealing with any emotional issue over the past couple of years was always to beat the crap out of punching bag. Or criminals running around town, whichever came first. It might be effective to clean up the streets of crooks, but that's not the best way to go around your daily life, trust me."

William looks at her sheepishly and yeah, she is definitely going to kill Oliver for this. What the hell was he even thinking, giving this sweet kid such a ridiculous idea?

"Okay William, I am going to tell you something you probably won't like, but you need to hear it. Sweetheart, you are not your father. You will _never_ be your father."

His eyes fall away and for a moment, he looks crestfallen, so she takes his face into her hands again, directing it towards her to deliver her point. "I won't allow it."

That puzzles him, his brow furrowing before letting out a painted grunt, and his cute confusion makes her smile.

"I love your dad, William. I love him with all of my heart. But do you honestly think the part I love about him best is the beating up people and being the tough guy? Hell no. He does those things because they are necessary in his line of work and the people he deals with, not because he likes them. Yes. He's killed people. There was a time when he thought that was necessary too, but he outgrew that part of him – outgrew himself – resorting to less drastic and only absolutely necessary methods. He allowed himself to feel something and with it, his gentle side, his funny side, the warm and caring and nurturing side came to shine through and that's the part I fell in love with. I fell in love with a man who would come home to me early from work to cook me dinner, a man to tuck me in bed and bring me soup when I had the flu. Who would hold me as I bawled my eyes out watching a sad movie. A man with a tight grip but a gentle heart. Being the Green Arrow is who he is, it's a part of his identity, and don't get me wrong, I love that part too, in fact, I love all of his parts. I just love the father-husband-friend part most. And that one part – the one that's the very and most genuine part of him – doesn't want you to follow in his footsteps, William. He wants you to be your own man, your own person. Your dad became the Green Arrow because of his own father's legacy, to right his own father's wrongs, and it's a hard and dangerous path to walk, one your dad has chosen for himself. But not one he wants to leave for his own son. He wants you to pick your own path." She watches William closely for his reaction, because she absolutely needs to push this point across.

"Do you understand, Will?"

He watches her for a long time and she can see her words swirling in his head as he makes sense of them, but after a long while, he finally nods.

"So no more fights, okay? That's not you. That's not me either. And that's okay." He silently nods before he closes the distance between them and envelops her in another hug.

"Thank you, Felicity," he murmurs against her throat.

"For what?" she asks, once again surprised by the spurt of his sudden affection.

"For being you."

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That night, she doesn't have a problem falling asleep. They have a quiet evening, watching a movie while she ices Williams face and pulls jokes about his backfired attempt to earn some street-cred at school.

It's still dark outside and she sleeps deep, so it takes a couple of rings for her to register it's her phone. Sleepily, she grabs for it, not even looking at the ID.

"Yeah," she murmurs drowsily.

"Felicity? Hello, it's Jean. Sorry to wake you this early, but I am afraid I have some bad news."

She barely manages to listen to the end of what Oliver's lawyer has to say before she darts to the bathroom door, her stomach rolling. She is just in time to make it to the toilet before she vomits.

 

* * *

**OLIVER**

 

 

He is already in the room when she enters, her heels resonating inside the steel and concrete walls of the visitations room. It's a strange sound inside these walls, but Oliver doesn't have time to dwell on that much, because he's drinking her in, taking all he can read off of her without wasting a second of their already limited time together. He hasn't seen her in a little over two weeks.

There is something about her, the way she is holding herself rigidly, the lack of a smile on her face, no usual warm greeting when she sits down across from him. She just stares at him, eyes brittle and lips tightly pressed together, expectant and obviously upset.

She knows. Well, of course she does, he already knew as much. During each medical emergency that requires an inmate's transfer to a local hospital the lawyer or a family relative is contacted.

So he knew she'd be informed, but that's not it.

He didn't call her. He couldn't, wasn't allowed, not from the hospital and not the infirmary either, from where he was released only this morning. He would be released to gen-pop later today and he was already preparing himself mentally for the call home later, but here she was, sitting across from him, as if she knew exactly when he would be released back to general population and-

His eyes fall momentarily shut. Well of course she did.

And from the look of her now, she is absolutely livid.

He thinks he has an idea what this is about and he shifts nervously in his chair, the additional movement making his body go rigid with pain.

"I'm fine," he starts meekly, trying to placate her already, because an angry Felicity is something he usually wouldn't want to encounter on a good day.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" The harsh tone cuts him deeper than the words itself, and it strikes him momentarily speechless.

"You are anything but fine, Oliver, so spare me the mollifying speech."

His eyes fall shut again, because he is tired, and he hurts, and he can't speak to her when she's looking at him like that. With brittle anger and silent accusation masking the sickening worry so clearly written all over her.

"I couldn't do anything," he utters quietly.

"So you got yourself stabbed fighting another inmate's battles instead?" The amount of disbelieving anger in her tone is alarming, her voice growing louder with incredulity.

He tries to explain, willing her to understand. "There is a kid here, Felicity, really young. He is a meta a he made some bad choices in life and they make it really hard on him-"

"You are not kidding," she realizes, being genuinely appalled now.

"He. Is. A. Kid, Felicity-"

"I don't care!" she shouts indignantly, making heads turn, but her eyes are a hard line trained solely on him.

It takes him off guard, that she means it. She genuinely doesn't care. His back hits the chair hard, the searing pain in his side making him hiss.

"You've got a child yourself, Oliver. A child I had to cradle to sleep like a baby last week because he couldn't stop crying about his father almost getting killed in here!"

The implication of her words combined with the visual image make him flinch.

"He is not even twenty-" he tries again, but the noise she makes stops him mid-sentence.

"Oliver," She is looking at him like she doesn't recognize him, as if he grew a second head. He feels a little hurt by that, because he is trying to tell her he actually did something good for somebody last week.

"Do you-" she starts, her words falling off as she contemplates him, the suppressed hurt making her voice tremble, "Do you have any idea-" she gulps, tries again, "-any idea what it feels like to get that call?"

Cold sweat trickles down his spine now, and it has nothing to do with his barely healed injury. "Do you have any idea how that feels when your spouse's lawyer calls you, wakes you from your sleep because it's not even a reasonable hour yet, to tell you your husband has gotten into a fight in prison-"

"Felicity," he tries.

"and got himself stabbed-"

"Felicity," he calls her name a bit louder.

"and is lying with a punctured lung in a prison infirmary waiting for a transfer to the nearest hospital? Do you have any idea how it feels not to know when, and where, and how, and if? If they are going to make it? Can you even imagine? Can you imagine having to wake your son and break the news to him? To spend the next couple of hours on the phone futilely trying to find out how you are and then actually having to-" she drops her voice to an angry whisper, "hack your way into a hospital IT network to pull your medical data in order to find out whether you are going to make it?"

She doesn't speak further. It's enough. She's said enough.

She sits there in silence, letting him stew in it, conjure up the mental images of what she has been going through over the past week. The accusation, the reproach in her eyes, is too much for him and he has to look away.

"I didn't plan on getting stabbed. It was, in fact, an accident-" he tries to reassure her, but she lets out a small derisive scoff, and again, he is taken aback, because he has a hard time associating the mirthless sound with his wife.

"God, Oliver. Only you--" she hisses, but she doesn't finish her sentence.

He waits, contemplating how to make her understand that this was an exception, that he really couldn't stand by this time.

"The kid," he starts and he finds it a good sign when she doesn't interrupt him. "He reminds me of William. It could be William in a couple of years--"

She scoffs at that. "Not if I have any say in it, he won't. Not that he isn't trying," she adds on an afterthought.

That's not what he meant and _what_?

"Also, did you instruct William to punch other kids in the nose when having a disagreement? Is that your idea of good parenting?"

Her verbal punches are coming from all sides and with his mind still slightly muddled from the painkillers, he has a hard time following her.

"What did I do now?" He asks dumbly, but then something clicks, a distant memory of a conversation he had with William in the back of a limousine, back when it was all so complicated between him and his son. "Well- I once told him what he had to do to protect himself."

"Are you insane?" She hisses. "Protect himself? I was called to school to pick up William last week for starting a fight with a schoolmate."

"What?" His head is spinning now, and he has a hard time discerning if it's the information or if maybe he should have stayed a couple of days longer at the infirmary as advised.

"He was sporting a shiner, his right eye closed-shut and he looked like a punch-drunk racoon."

She falls silent after that and he stays quiet as well, trying to process everything she's said with her words and even more that she hasn't.

When he finally looks at her again, she looks utterly miserable, giving him a helpless look and only now does he see the dark shadows beneath her eyes she obviously tried to mask with makeup.

"I can't do this, Oliver." She utters, "Not like this." Something in her look breaks and chips away, her eyes swimming with tears and the sight of her, so utterly beaten, breaks his heart.

He wants so badly to comfort her. Say the right words. But he has none.

His eyes seek out hers, beseeching her to give him more, reveal more, because he is as lost here as she is out there. Something in her look softens, her hands twitching on the table before she clasps them together, her fingers coming to play with her wedding band, twisting it around her finger over and over again.

A nervous habit he is quite familiar with by now.

"When I agreed to marry you," she starts, a tone more measured, her eyes suddenly shining with a warmth he hasn't seen for quite some time, "I meant it. All the way, for better or for worse. For life. Not just the convenient portion of it. But God, this is just so damn hard. Have you and not have you at all. Everywhere I look these days, there are fires I have to put out, and it's just too much sometimes."

It's close to an apology for her outburst, her supposed inaptitude, but she shouldn't. God, she should absolutely never apologize to him for feeling overwhelmed by the burden he put on her.

"I am sorry," he offers instead, almost inaudibly, and for a moment, he doesn't even know which part he is apologizing for, because there is just so much he should be apologizing for. His head is spinning, but he needs to find a solution, a temporary fix, because she is right. She absolutely can't go on like this.

"Alright," he murmurs, "Don't worry. I will call William tonight, I'll talk to him, explain that is not what I meant-"

"Already taken care of." She interrupts him, waving her hand. "He won't start anything anytime soon, I assure you."

There is something in her voice, the absolute certainty with which she proclaims that that makes him wonder.

What happened? How did Felicity approach the issue? How did the two of them handle it? Was she stern with William? Was she emphatic?

There is no doubt in his mind she did well – so well – by his son. What he feels sorry about is that he wasn't there in the first place. There is still so much yet he doesn't know about their family and he should be there for these things. It should be him to scold and reprimand his son, him who suggested a movie and popcorn afterward, him to put ice on his son's black eye.

He knows his wife does it better, always has with William. She has that kind of easy parental intuition he never seemed to find. Felicity has his full trust. And yet, he should have been there.

It makes him feel robbed. Of his time with his family, the experiences, good and bad, of the chance to be the parental presence in his son's life William's never had.

"Tell me what I can do," he begs, because there must be something, anything, he can do for his wife and son, even from behind the bars.

Felicity's look softens, but the twitch in her hands stays.

"I will tell you exactly what to do, Oliver. Right now, you have a single job. One. And that is staying alive in here. No more crazy shit." She is deadly serious.

"I am sorry I got stabbed," he utters. His side throbs with pain again, the painkillers starting to wear off.

"I understand, Oliver. Trust me, I do. I know you. I. Know. You." His wife says, emphasizing each word. "I of all people have a deep understanding of your compulsive need to help those who are in need. Even at your own expense."

His eyes fall down at her words. Because more times than he can count, it was her expanse as well.

"But Oliver, I need you to finally start prioritizing what's important in your life. And right now, your priority should be the well-being of your son and wife. And the only thing you can do for us is stay alive. I've seen you take on dozens of men under that hood. You have survived worse things than this prison and it's time you showed them who you really are. And what you are really capable of. Do everything in your ability to defend yourself, but don't go out looking for fights. This is not a place for heroes. So stay alive."

Her tone is hard, but her voice trembles in the end and he understands it now, sees what it cost her to hold herself together, holding onto her anger so the fear wouldn't take over, but only now does he truly see how very rattled she is. How helpless she must feel, being on the outside, never knowing and always wondering.

He gets it.

He just doesn't know how to fix it. Because it's against his nature to look away. Loving Felicity, being a father to William made him a better man. And now he doesn't know anymore how to not step in when he sees what's happening around here. But he also can't continue to do this to his son and wife.

Oliver sits here, contemplating all the life choices that have lead him here, how not even Lian Yu could prepare him for this sense of absolute, hopeless powerlessness, when a sudden jolt of warmth spreads across his hand, enveloping it, warm and familiar fingers squeezing his own in support.

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They do a full body search on him after her visit – because they can, because it's another form of humiliation. It's one of the guards he has a particular dislike for, the guard that usually stands by and watches while he is outnumbered and beaten.

"So, Queen, when does your wife's finally come for a conjugal visit? That is one hot piece of ass."

_Never_ , is his instant thought.

If he has any say in it, she will never set foot in this place and be subjected to what he knows will be a humiliating search accompanied by randy looks of sleazy guards undressing her with their eyes, already imagining what she is here for. He knows how the CO's look at that kind of visits – in their mind, what decent woman would willingly involve herself with a lowlife criminal like the inmates of Slabside, which ultimately leads them to the simple conclusion that any such woman must be a common whore.

He absolutely won't stand for it. She already has to deal with the public shaming of the whole of Star City – being the wife of the disgraced mayor, slash vigilante.

He won't subject her to this, even if that could win them more time together and grant them at least some amount of privacy in between these walls. But the cost is not worth his selfish gain and he is glad the topic hasn't come up yet between the two of them.

Officer Bradley is continuing his search accompanied by his continuous dirty rant about Felicity, taunting him, because that's just what bored COs do for entertainment in a place like this.

He doesn't bite, even as his insinuations make his stomach churn and fists clench, for only now – mere minutes ago, in fact – he promised his wife he would behave himself and attacking a CO out of spite wouldn't go well in her book.

So he merely grunts when Bradley brushes his fingers somewhere where they definitely don't belong. Lets the man have his fun because what Bradley doesn't know is the company he and his wife are keeping. With a satisfactory image of John Diggle smashing the man's skull against the pavement if Oliver told him Bradley so as much as looked wrong at Felicity, Oliver stands still and docile as the man's hands continue to frisk him.

"She wears pretty skimpy dresses, your wife," Bradley says, finishing his search at last and coming to stand in front of Oliver. His face pulling into a nasty grimace when his words don't get him the reaction he was hoping for.

"I bet she likes it rough," and that almost – almost – brings a smile to Oliver's lips. As clichés goes, Bradley is definitely a poster boy for those. The man has no idea – will never have any idea – how it is between him and Felicity. How good it can be. He almost feels sorry for a man working low wage dealing day and night with criminals who still get visits from women, he will never even lay a finger on the outside world.

"Does she like you to fuck her in the ass?" Bradley tries one more time.

"You’ll never know. Now am I allowed to go, _officer_?" Oliver grits out, because despite his high horse, even he has his limits and the insinuations are slowly starting to rub him raw.

"She a hellcat, your wife. Saw her last week, right before you got stabbed. Storming straight into the Warden's office, all spit and fire."

Oliver's heart stops before it restarts beating wildly in his chest again.

"She had a long and cozy talk with the Warden behind closed doors."

His side is still burning from the stabbing. So is his chest, but for a whole other reason, because what? Felicity has been here to see the fucking Warden? And that was over a week ago?

"Apparently, she came snitching about your little boo-boos," Bradley says derisively. His hand comes up to grab Oliver's side and twists. Oliver sees white, his knees buckling a little and an involuntary groan of pain leaving his lips. His incision is still not completely healed and Bradley knows this.

He snickers, his face now so close to Oliver's, he can smell his foul breath on him. "I wonder what kind of services she had to provide for her little favor. Heard the door stayed closed pretty long…"

But he isn't listening to Bradley anymore as the officer leads him back to his cell, his mind racing.

Because he doesn't doubt it, not one second. It's absolutely something Felicity would do, fighting her way directly into the Warden's office and demand answers for all the injuries he sustained in the past couple of weeks.

_God, Felicity_.

She is watching out for him, as she always does, even from outside of these walls. He is once again put to shame by her care and commitment to him. It also makes her fury with him earlier today so much more understandable.

She went to the fucking Warden so they would lay off of him. Only for him to go and involve himself willingly into a fight of somebody else. No wonder she was livid, he practically undermined everything she tried to do with his actions.

Momentary worry seizing him, because there is absolutely no doubt in Oliver's mind she didn't come without a plan, without a way to reach a goal once she set her mind on it. He only hopes she hasn't done anything too stupid, hasn't incriminated herself in the process of trying to protect his stupid ass. He knows for a fact she keeps tabs on him by pulling his incident and medical records from the Slabside servers. She didn't need to tell him, he knew by the way her eyes hungrily roamed over his body during each of her visits, eyes always resting a little longer at the places where his clothes were hiding the newest additions to his vast collection of wounds. Wounds he didn't tell her about because he just didn't want to add to her worry.

He goes straight to his cell, walks to the small metal table next to his bunk he claimed as his own, over which hangs a small collection of pictures and letters pinned to the wall. He finds the one photograph with his wife he has from their time spent traveling the world.

It seems like a lifetime ago, but he recreates the feeling from that moment, the absolutely giddy happiness he felt that summer with her. Not a single worry in their little world they created around themselves. Just them, freshly in love – well, not exactly, he's been in love with her long before then – and their new relationship blossoming. He couldn't believe it then either, how easy it could be with her. How easy they could be together, clicking effortlessly together on so many levels, working perfectly like a well-greased machine.

How simple life seemed back then.

His forehead falls against the wall and he takes a few hasty breaths to get his breathing under control again. He wonders how he could have fucked up such a simple thing so spectacularly.

Right now, he can't fathom doing this another month, what made him think he could do this for years? Possibly the rest of his life?

"Mr. Queen?" comes the timid voice from behind him. It's Renley, the boy he saved from the attack, standing in the doorway of his open cell door, looking at him uneasily.

_Mr. Queen_. Wow, that's something he hasn't heard in a while.

"It's Oliver," he says automatically, smiling, because there is something innocent in the face of this kid he just can't help but respond to.

Renley grins. "Alright, Oliver. Would you like to come play a game of cards with me and a couple of the other guys?"

Oliver ponders him, understanding the outstanding offer meaning more than just a simple card game. It offers an alliance. And maybe it's time he got himself some allies in here. He's been fending for himself for too long now, and it hasn't done him any good. If he's going to do this long term, he needs to not do this alone.

In his mind, he sees Felicity beam at him, giving him a thumbs-up, as if he's passed some kind of a test. He shakes his head, chuckling to himself. He doesn't care if he is already partly hallucinating from the pain and weariness or the infirmary drugs slowly leaving his system. Nothing matters, just the fact that his wife is apparently such an integral part of him, his own subconsciousness conjures up reactional images of her on its own volition.

Glad to make at least this imaginary version of his wife happy, he takes a step towards the bars of his cell.

"Renley, I'd really like to."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would really like to hear your thoughts, so don't be shy.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver and Felicity continue to adjust to their new new normal when a fortuity strikes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, MISSYriver. You’ve done a most wonderful job on this one!

**FELICITY**

It doesn’t happen as they show it in the movies.

She never sees the out of control truck hurtling towards them. Time doesn’t slow down and her whole life doesn’t flash before her eyes.

She never sees it coming.

One second, she is singing along to a tune on the radio to some 80's trash ballad and laughing at William as he groans in embarrassment. Next thing she knows, their car is lifted off the ground from a side impact and flying through the air, the crunching metal and breaking glass deafening to her ears.

Then, a second of crystal clear awareness as something slices across her cheek with searing hot pain, followed by a thunderous crash. She hears a high-pitched shriek and realizes in bewilderment the sound is leaving her very own throat.

And after, absolute silence.

For a moment, nothing moves and everything is still. Her vision blurs, her glasses askew and splattered with a substance she doesn’t dare look too closely at.

Blood rushes to her head while her seatbelt painfully digs into her shoulder and chest. Only then does she realize the car is flipped on its roof and she’s hanging upside down.

She is disoriented, has a hard time catching her breath.

And then it all comes back with horrifying clarity.

Her right arm flails, blindly fumbling at her side, at the spot where William should be. She tries to call his name, but only a weak croak leaves her mouth, followed by a pained sob.

Finally, her fingers catch on something, the sleeve of his hoodie. His arm is limp, hanging down into the rubble that is the ground above them.

“Will,” she whimpers. “William?!”

He doesn’t respond and maybe it’s the crash, maybe it’s her fear, she feels the unfortunate urge to vomit as bile rises in her throat. She tries to turn her head to the side and look at him, but she has trouble moving her neck without searing pain firing through her skull.

Everything is upside down and her head spins with vertigo.

There are footsteps scurrying outside, people crying, shouting, tires screeching to a halt, horns honking.

It’s a pandemonium and yet, inside what is left of their car, it is eerily silent.

Felicity squints, her glasses useless as they hang down from one ear and she tries to see through what’s left of their front window. Two pairs of heavy, military boots quickly approach. That’s when it hits her. What had happened, where they are.

What still might happen.

She whimpers again, knowing they are sitting ducks. Whoever had them run off the road has also ordered their henchmen to finish the job.

She sends a silent plea to Oliver to forgive her for being so foolish. For stubbornly ignoring his warnings, brushing off his concern. She selfishly refused to leave when he asked her. As it is, he obviously had very good reasons to want her out of the picture. Weren’t she only as stubborn as him in her will to stay.

The two pairs of boots stop in front of her field of vision. Two dark figures drop their large frames to the ground to peek at the two figures hanging from the car’s seats by their seatbelts. Her hand closes over whatever she can reach of William and Felicity is momentarily glad he isn’t conscious for this.

“Miss Smoak?” Comes a concerned male voice she doesn’t recognize. “Hang in there.” Not so funny while the world is upside down. “Help is on the way. We will try to get you out. Are you hurt? Can you move?”

No shots, too many questions, but one thing – at least – is clear.

These are not Diaz’s henchmen here to kill them but their security detail. The large muscular shadows that follow them around twenty-four hours a day and thank you, John.

“Ma’am,” the agent urges. “The ambulance is already on the way. Don't move your head. Where are you hurt?”

She closes her eyes, the light hitting her eyes too much to bare further. The strain of trying to focus her eyes on a world out of its axes causes heavy pounding in her head. Everything hurts, but she has a hard time pinpointing exactly what her injuries are.

“William,” she whispers. “Please, help William.”

There is commotion outside, but it all mingles together into a blur. A panicked cry, “I swear, I didn’t see her. Are they okay?!”

“Sir, you need to step back.”

“What have I done?! Oh my God, there’s a child, there’s an injured kid inside!” The panic in the gathering voices spreads fear through Felicity’s heart. Her eyes blur with tears.

_Not like this, God, not like this._

“William, honey,” she whimpers, her voice drowned out by the oncoming sirens.

She is clenching the sleeve of his hoodie. Pulling his arm toward her desperately to get to him, to hold him, make sure he is alive, that he is okay.

She wishes he would answer her, she needs to let him know she is here. She won't leave his side. She fights the haze of sleepiness, needing to be fully present and aware for William's sake.

Felicity knows no matter what happens, the images and sounds of today will haunt her for the rest of her life.

Paramedics and firefighters rush around the scene. Flashlights are pointed into the interior of the car and burn her eyes. Orders are shouted and the crews work as a team, securing the car.

A man in fire turnouts and a helmet crawls inside, pulling away glass and debris. His brown eyes meet Felicity. “Lady, we are going to get you out of here. I need you to hold still, without moving your head. Can you tell me your name?”

She swallowed her fear and nausea, “Fe-Felicity.”

“Good Felicity, what's your son's name?”

“William,” she utters in a small voice.

Felicity watches the firefighter visibly examine her and then look toward William. His gloved hand reached out for him. The man looks back at Felicity.

"He's alive but unconscious. We are going to get him out first. It is going to be loud and you will not be comfortable but we will get you both out of here. My name is Steve and I'm going to be right here."

A board is pushed into the car, along with another firefighter. Room is now tight with the collapsed roof and dashboard. They extract William from the seatbelt, controlling his fall from the seat. Just at that moment, William comes through with a horrifying wail of pain that makes Felicity’s hair stand on end.

“Careful, careful,” somebody warns, “open fracture to the right arm.” Felicity shudders and her nausea returns. Steve is back with another board and another firefighter. He keeps her calm, focused on him when they release her seatbelt. She lets out a cry as her body falls forward into a pair of hands and they pull her from the wreckage, shards of broken glass crunching and breaking underfoot. The next thing she knows, she is put on a stretcher at the back of an ambulance.

Looking down at herself, the odd thing she notices first is that she has only one shoe. Also, she hurts absolutely everywhere.

But William, God, she needs to know that Will is okay.

A shadow appears over her. “Miss Smoak?” It’s the A.R.G.U.S. agent again, thank God. She nearly cries in relief.

“William,” she commands, trying to keep her voice steady. A blurry figure takes the agent’s spot overhead wearing blue gloves and pointing a light into her eyes.

“Miss Smoak, he’s the other ambulance. My colleague is with him and won’t leave his side.”

 The paramedic is asking her questions, but her mind is only on William and gripped by the fear that they might still be in danger.

“Attack?” she quietly inquires the agent, her vision blurry without her glasses, her head swimming.

“No. We secured the area, it looks like a genuine accident.”

Her head pounds and she has a hard time concentrating, eyes falling shut without her own volition.

“Felicity,” the paramedic’s urgent voice rouses her and okay, she may have dozed off for a second there. She squints up, looking for the A.R.G.U.S. agent to ask about William, but the man is gone. It sends her heart racing.

“Felicity, do you know where you are?” The paramedic brings her attention back to him. She doesn’t respond and the man says something to somebody off her side, a murmured conversation passing between them.

“William,” she murmurs. “My- boy, is he okay?” she asks dazedly, chest heaving with painful breaths, brain scrambling for coherent thoughts.

The car. She was driving Will to school. They had fun. She was singing. He was pretending to be mortified but secretly enjoying it, laughing despite himself.

She loved it. Loved making Will laugh. No small accomplishment these days. He is such a great kid. He deserves to laugh, even if it’s at her own expense.

“Your son has an open fracture to his right arm and we need to get him to a hospital for a complete check-up, he is alert and we are giving him something for his pain.”

He is alert, he’s in pain but he is _alive_. Oh God, she hasn’t killed her husband’s son. The boy who he had left in her care, with trust.

_Oh, God._

It slowly starts to trickle deep down into her bones, the realization of what happened, how close they came to dying. A painful sob leaves her throat even as a collar is slipped around her neck, her mind still focused on William.

She’s anxious to see him, to get a glimpse of him to make absolutely sure, with her own two eyes, that he is okay, but they load her up into a different ambulance and she doesn’t have the energy to protest.

They try to talk her down, murmur assurances, “He is in the ambulance behind us. Try to slow down your breathing, stay awake. Your son needs you to be okay too.” Her heart does a flip because he is. He _is_ her son. Somewhere along the way, William has become more than a sweet boy with Oliver’s eyes and his mother’s gentle heart. A boy she swore to herself she would raise as her own. He’d become an integral part of her life and Felicity knows with absolute certainty, that if anything ever happened to him, nothing in this world would ever be okay again.

She cries quietly, tears sliding down her cheeks into her hair as she tries to gulp down her sobs and focus on something productive instead. She catalogs her body, taking stock of her possible injuries.

She is pretty banged up. Her chest, shoulder, and neck throb from the seatbelt and impact. Her hip is on fire, pain radiating down to her knee. She feels the sting of tiny cuts on her face and hands from the glass shattering. Her head is cloudy, her fingers tingle and her teeth chatter. She has seen the signs of shock and a concussion before. Felicity just hopes nothing is broken. She forces her mind to slow down her breathing. The paramedic cleans away the glass and blood from her face.

Once inside the ER the doctors run multiple tests, check her vitals, do MRIs and take x-rays. She is patient with the repetitive questions and slips in her own questions about William.

She should call somebody. She wants Oliver to be here, but that’s not happening. But she needs somebody here.

As if on cue, materializing right in front of her like she conjured him up by mere wishful thinking, John Diggle is barging through the door, fear and worry written all across his face.

“Oh, God, Felicity,” he gasps, “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

His mere presence and the sheer intensity of his large frame halts the movement of all the people currently present in the room. A male nurse gets up the courage and walks up to John, “Sir, you can’t be in here.” But John sidesteps him and is in three quick steps right at Felicity’s side.

Before she knows it, she sobbing into his shirt.

“Willam,” She manages through her sobs, “his arm is broken,” another sob. “I need to know he is okay, John,” she finally gets out, already pushing Diggle away from her.

“It’s okay Felicity, I already did. Dinah and Curtis are with him right now.”

The tight knot finally eases in Felicity’s stomach and she is finally able to breathe a little more freely. “He is pretty banged up and has a nasty fracture of his arm but otherwise okay. They are preparing him for surgery as we speak.”

Her heart drops again. “Surgery!?” she squeaks, gripping John’s shirt in both of her hands.

“To reset the bone. He might need a pin in his arm. The Doctor will know more once he is in surgery,” John says, calmly running his large palms over her shoulders in a soothing, gentle manner. If she closed her eyes, she can almost believe those hands are Oliver’s.

“I need to see him,” she murmurs. She gazes at John, squinting her eyes slightly. The absence of her glasses makes the feeling of vulnerability intensify tenfold.

In unison, they both turn their heads to the doctor, who’s stopped what he was doing and has been waits patiently until they finished their exchange.

“I need to see my son.”

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She signs the stack of papers releasing her against medical advice. The doctor makes John promise to bring her back at the first sign of any significant complications. Luckily, nothing is broken. But the bruising on her chest and left side would take weeks to heal. They wrap her hands in gauze and the small cut over her eye is sealed with glue and bandaged. There’s the promise of colorful bruises on half her body. She is given pain medication, ice, and encouraged to make a follow-up appointment with her primary doctor.

With John’s help, Felicity finally walks out of the ER. Her left leg throbs and her knee threatens to buckle but nothing will keep her from being the first face William sees when he wakes up.  

She walks with a slight limp, something more feeling a little off about her legs than the bruising from the impact. Nothing is broken, but she suspects she probably pinched a nerve somewhere along her spine, one leg tingling hot and her other oddly numb, but that’s not her main concern right now.

By the time she hobbles into William’s room, he is already alert, talking to Dinah and Curtis.

He looks so out of place in the big hospital bed, so small and fragile, it causes Felicity’s throat to close up at the sight of him. Gulping down her tears at not getting to him sooner, she refuses to feel anything but gratefulness that he is alive, that they both are. Her eyes quickly roam over William’s body looking for all of his injuries, which proves to be a bit of a challenge, since everything is blurred due to the absence of her glasses.

Unlike hers, his face didn’t take the brunt of the impact. There is a small abrasion on his cheek and a small purple hematoma above his right eye, but in all honesty, he had looked far worse after the fight with the bully at school.

His arm is in a cast from wrist to shoulder and fixed to his chest. For a moment, Felicity has to take a steadying breath when her ears ring with the echo of his blood-curdling shriek when they pulled him out of the wreckage.

“Hey, buddy.” She offers gently as she fully walks into his line of vision. She forces a smile that pulls at the butterfly band-aids covering a gash across her cheek.

She can hear the shocked inhales from Dinah and Curtis and in that moment, she knows her injuries and appearance are worse than she thought. Right now, though, she only has eyes for William and the huge, loopy smile he is giving her in return.

“Felicity, hey! Look, my arm's broken. I’ve never broken a bone before! How cool is that?”

Her eyebrows rise, a questioning look directed at Dinah who envelopes her in a hug, whispering in her ear, “He’s on the good stuff.”

Well, no shit. William is grinning at her through glassy eyes, looking more like he is on the receiving end of a wisdom tooth removal instead of a horrible car crash and Felicity is glad for small favors.

She shares a short, stiff hug with Curtis, gritting her teeth through the pain. Her aching body is starting to protest to her every movement, but Felicity steps to William’s bed. Forcing her body to fight the pain, she envelopes the boy in a warm hug, pressing her mouth to the crown of his head.

Tears cloud her eyes. She almost lost him today and it would have broken more than one person.

She breathes him in, basking in how effortlessly William snuggles against her side like he belongs there. She will take it, will take anything the sweet boy has to offer in return.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The rest of the afternoon is a blur of nurses and doctor consultations. William’s doctor explains the surgery, treatment plan and has her signing medical documents. Her stomach churns each time she scribbles down her signature.

Oliver should be here for this. She shouldn’t be making these important decisions on her own, definitely not hours after nearly being killed in a stupid car crash.

The doctor wants to keep William overnight to monitor him for signs of complications from the surgery, but he should be good to go home the next day.

William falls asleep quickly, finally getting some proper rest after the horror of a day. She sits stiffly on the side of his bed, running her fingers through his hair. He looks more like a young boy instead of the budding teenager he’s slowly started to become in the recent months.

John assures her that despite all the odds, the accident was not a targeted attack on William’s and her’s life. A.R.G.U.S. has vetted the guy who ran into them with his SUV. A downtown accountant simply running a red light while he was on his phone arguing with his girlfriend.

Just a fortuity. Nothing more.

Felicity briefly wonders what she did in her previous life to be able to attract so much bad karma in this one. She is glad she still has some lucky bargaining chips left for William and her to walk away from this in one piece.

God, she is tired. Bone-deep tired.

She talks to William’s nurse about getting her bath wipes and Dinah rushes to the apartment to get a change of clothes for them and grab her spare glasses after Felicity blows off any attempts of her going home to rest. She can’t leave William here alone. Her nerve endings are still tingling with adrenaline, William's agonizes screams echo in her head on a loop.

Her eyes wander to the clock hanging on the wall and she nearly takes a double take. It’s past five pm, the day gone by in a flash.

_Five pm. So she’s missed her visit._

A random thought, one that pops into her mind without a point of origin. It’s there for a moment before the meaning finally registers to Felicity’s. Her hand shoots to her mouth in shock, because Oh, God, she was supposed to see Oliver at Slabside today. She should be sitting with him right this very moment.

She never made it, never dropped William off at school, but Oliver doesn’t know. He has no idea what happened.

She wishes again he was here. That she could be the one to tell him. Having his lawyer contact the prison is the last way she wants him to find out. But there are no other options. He absolutely needs to know what happened to them, why she didn’t show up. He better not try to break out.

Felicity knows her husband well enough to know he must be going crazy with worry by now, has probably tried to call her cell phone as well as their home number countless times by now.

And damn, her phone. Where is her phone?

She needs her phone. And her glasses.

But first, she needs to let her husband know his son almost didn’t make it home tonight.

And it’s all wrong, all kinds of wrong. Tears are already falling when she turns back to Diggle, who looks alarmed. He has stayed close by throughout the day, and she is thankful for that, she really is, but-

“John, I need to borrow your phone.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“Felicity?”

Her eyes open, yet for a moment, she doesn’t move, and the gentle tugging at her hand intensifies.

“Felicity?!”

Her body shoots upright, a groan of pain leaving her lips as her body protest the sudden movement. She tenderly stretches her stiff and aching muscles.

The room is dark, only a small light on at William’s bedside illuminating his bed. His eyes are open, filled with tears, his good hand squeezing her fingers tightly.

“William, hey,” she whispers, willing her foggy mind to shake off the remnants of sleep.

“Are you okay?” He says softly, concern written over his face. The drugs must have worn off by now. For his sake, she wishes their effects would last a little while longer.

“Yeah, Will. I’m good,” she assures him.

“You don’t look so good.”

She barks out a slightly hysterical laugh before it morphs into a hiss, sharp pain shooting through her jaw.

“Thank you, William. You certainly know how to make a girl feel special.”

William, at least, has the decency to look sheepish. He gives her a tiny smile.

He’s right, she looks like hell. Her face is a mess, the airbag and shards of glass having caused most of the damage. She caught a glimpse of herself it in the mirror while she cleaned up earlier and shuddered. She’s had a fair share of injuries in the past couple of years, but the way her face got smashed today is a whole new level even for the team Arrow standards.

Truth to be told, her face looks exactly like her body feels. Like a truck ran over her. She aches absolutely everywhere. But they are alive and going to be okay.

They stay silent for a moment, Felicity gazing at William. She runs her fingers through his hair. This amazing, brave boy. His eyes fall shut and he doesn’t move away from her touch. Felicity's heart swells at how much this boy trusts her.

“I was so scared.” William whispers, his eyes full of tears when they fix on her again and her heart breaks a little for him.

“I was scared too,” she admits.

“Was it an accident?” he asks quietly. She can hear the fear in his trembling voice. There is so much he has seen in his young life.

“Yes, William. Just a stupid accident.” She assures him. He nods back at her. It seems to put his mind at ease.

“Does dad know?”

“Yes,” she affirms before hesitating. “Well, I certainly hope he does. I asked Jean to let the prison know. I haven’t talked to him yet. I guess we can never know for sure.”

William’s brow furrows. They both feel uneasy thinking about Oliver finding out like this, not being able to see for himself his family is safe.

“John and Jean are driving to Slabside as soon as they can to talk to him in person,” she offers and William leaves out a breath.

“Good.”

So remarkable, this boy. The level of care and compassion at the frail age of twelve often steals Felicity’s breath away.

“Will you stay?” William asks hopefully in a small voice. “I mean. I know you should probably go home and rest.” He adds quickly, his eyes falling to the sheets, cheeks slightly staining crimson.

He is sweet and his concern is more than a little touching. But there is no way in hell she is going home tonight. Battered and bruised, her body may have other ideas that involve a hot bubble bath and stretch out between her sinfully soft sheets. Yet her heart knows there is nowhere else she wants to be.

“Of course, I’ll stay. I'm not leaving until you do.”

The boy smiles sweetly at her from underneath his lashes. He squeezes her hand even tighter, and her heart surges in her chest, the back of her eyes burning.

“I am glad you are okay, Felicity,” he whispers even as his eyes fall shut again and she lets him sleep. She will be his Overwatch for the night.

 

**OLIVER**

Oliver paces the room in excited anticipation. It is ten to three on a Thursday. Any minute now a guard will show his head into gen-pop and call up his name. It visiting day. Today his wife is visiting, breaking the monotonous dullness of his imprisonment. The one bright spot until Thursday rolls around once again and he gets a ray of sunshine warming his face in the form of Felicity’s smile.

He misses her.

He misses William too. His son is not allowed to visit, so the only contact he has with his son is by their evening calls. He wishes he could hug him tight, that kind of hug that makes William squirm in embarrassment. He tells Oliver that he’s not a little boy anymore and grown-up don’t get hugs like that. It always brings a smile to Oliver’s face. He’d tousle his hair and share a secretive grin with his wife over the top of William’s head as he grumbled, trying to push his old man away.

Five more minutes.

He can’t wait. Yet what are five more minutes in a sea of nothingness?

Oliver walks to his cell’s wall, his eyes roaming the small collection of photos he has of his family. He feels especially anxious to see her today.

Last week, Oliver’s faced his own reality and it finally clicked for him. Everything Felicity does, how much she cares. How her sometimes nearly cold demeanor when talking to him was all but a façade to protect her soul from more heartache. This place, the lack of privacy and frustration of not being able to hold a single intimate conversation getting to the both of them. The torture of never being able to touch.

And yet, Felicity fought her way up to the fucking Warden, protecting his back even when she couldn’t watch over him in person.

God, he wishes he could have been a fly on the wall. Watch his petite yet scarily fierce wife talk to the most respected and feared man in this institution. It was priceless knowing the Warden didn’t stand a chance.

Even now, it makes Oliver smile with pride. That’s his wife.

People tend to underestimate her, think of her as weak, yet they have no idea what she is capable of, how fierce of a fighter she is. A lioness.

He might be getting mushy but he is high with giddy anticipation of finally seeing her after a whole week of having to do without. He is not used to that anymore, to having to restrict himself in his access to her, mind and body and soul.

It took him by absolute surprise, the withdrawal he had to go through once he got here. The prison cell doors clicking behind him and placing a wall between her and his heart. The twitch in his fingers whenever he thought about her. He could swear he felt her phantom touch in the middle of the night. He would instinctively reach out to pull her body closer only to grasp empty air.

Five minutes after three.

Felicity is usually early, even with a three and a half hour drive. With processing through security checkpoints, it always surprises him, but she manages to make it every week.

He's practically bouncing on the balls of his feet, barely able to contain his excitement. His eyes take in the picture of the three of them along with their friends at their wedding reception.

Oliver can't wait to tell his wife he's been playing well with others and he hasn’t gotten into any serious fights. He's even made a few friends. For once, his face isn't covered in cuts or bruises. He’s sure Felicity will appreciate it.

Look at that. Oliver Queen playing nice.

He doesn’t care his excitement makes him feel like when he was six and trying to impress his mom by making it through a four-course business dinner without leaving any food stains on his crisp white shirt.

His health is the only thing he can give her. And for the first time, he has something to offer his wife in return for her support.

The attacks on him didn’t stop, not completely, but he is being smarter and the guards are monitoring Oliver more closely now. They step in at any hint of an outnumbered conflict between him and the other inmates. Slowly, the inmates signaling him out are backing off. The word has spread around that guards are no longer turning a blind eye to the fighting involving Oliver Queen. The enemies realize it’s not worth the fight with him only to end up with a week in the SHU. Without a doubt, Oliver knows it’s his wife’s doing, which makes him even more curious about what has transpired in her talk with the Warden.

He doesn’t know what to say to that. How to express his gratitude. The turmoil of feelings raving inside his chest whenever he thinks about all the ways she takes care of him has him often choked up.

He hopes that somewhere on those other Earths, the other versions of himself have managed to find her. Hopefully before the disaster of life he has lived. He wants some universal equilibrium where he is actually the good guy, the husband who goes to regular, boring work each morning. The man who bakes souffles and gets her a puppy for their first anniversary.

Oliver made a lot of mistakes in his life but the one good thing will always be marrying this Earth’s Felicity. The one thing he has yet to accomplish is to be worth of that gift.

She is coming in a few minutes, though, and Oliver has a plan. He will be the one to carry them through the conversation this time, the one to offer support and comfort. Because until the beatings receded a week ago, he didn’t even realize how miserable and self-pitying he was. How little he offered in return when all Felicity was bringing him was light.

This life here, the misery of living inside a prison, that’s of his own making. But that doesn’t mean he has to be completely worthless to his family in the meantime. They can still talk. He can still be her friend, offer his support.

It’s one of the foundations their relationship is based upon and it took him nearly two months to get his head out of his ass to realize that.

Thanks to her, again.

A throat clears in the doorway to his cell and Oliver turns, expecting a guard summoning him, but it’s Renley.

“Hey Oliver, I am gonna do some push-ups. You able to watch my back?” he asks timidly. After a week of spending many hours with Oliver, the kid still looks at him like he is his priest, not a fellow inmate.

Oliver smiles, shakes his head. “Sorry, buddy, my wife’s visiting today. Should be any minute now.”

Renley’s face brightens. “Oh, good for you! Say all the best to your lady,” he winks and disappears, leaving Oliver alone again.

He could be out there, mingling. Making more possible allies. The call will come through gen-pop either way. But he just doesn’t feel like socializing right now, his fingers tingling with nervous energy.

He never realized how long a week is.

Thirty minutes after three, worry starts to creep into his mind. An hour passes before he asks the nicest of his block guards if his wife had arrived and what was taking so long. Unfortunately, the man knows nothing.

For anyone else, Oliver wouldn't think twice at an hour delay. But not his wife. She was never late unless something or someone stopped her.

Anything could have happened to her to be an hour late. She might have problems with her car or there could be a traffic on the highway. Maybe she needed to change her plans last minute due to work and couldn’t make it.

Yet it’s so unlike her. They cherish all the time they can have together, as limited as it is. All visitors have to leave by 5.30 pm, so she always makes a point to be punctual. In her own words; she isn’t spending seven hours in the car with her calves cramping up only to be jipped on time with him.

By half-past four, he is doing push-ups in his cell to get rid of the nervous energy.

By five, with a sinking heart he finally admits to himself she isn’t coming.

She must have a good reason. Any reason from her will be good enough for him, he just needs to know she’s okay. But the churning in his stomach finally propels him. He quickly makes his way to a small row of phones situated at the other end of gen-pop.

It’s early evening, inmates are out talking, playing cards, hustling or exercising. Occupying all working phones.

His eyes nervously cut to the clock on the wall. At half past six, it’s dinner call and then it’s over. Headcount at seven and then the doors of the cells close for the night. That’s still an hour and a half though, and if he’s lucky, he will get his hands on a phone within thirty minutes.

Shortly before six, he exhales, his fists unclenching. The guy on the phone in front of him finally sends off his last round of smacking kisses to his Mamacita and Oliver greedily grabs the receiver, punching in the familiar number.

He dials the loft first, a number he knows by heart. It rings and rings, but nobody picks up. Next, he tries her cell phone. Even more surprisingly, this call goes directly to voicemail. Now, he is officially concerned.

His mind racing, he searches his mind for another number to call, but these two are those he uses the most.

“Hey, man! If your old lady’s not home and out screwing some new guy, bad luck. Let the rest of us still call ours, okay?”

The murderous look Oliver gives the man behind him in line makes him take a few steps back. His hands shoot up in a placating manner.

 “Whatever man, just trying to call my sister, it’s her birthday,” he explains.

Oliver doesn’t have time to engage. He wants to call Diggle but he doesn’t know his new number. A monthly occurrence as a result of A.R.G.U.S.’s security measures ironically, it was Felicity who was supposed to bring him Dig’s new number today.

_Fuck._

He could try Raisa, Rene, Curtis or Dinah, but he doesn’t know their numbers by heart. If he runs back to his cell to retrieve them, it will be too late to get back in the line for the phones to be able to get a hold of one until dinner call. He runs his hand nervously through his hair, contemplating whether to risk giving up the phone now and try his luck with the other numbers. That’s when he hears his name called from the guard’s station.

“Queen! Get your ass over here.”

His chest loosens somewhat and he lets the receiver fall, not bothering to properly hang it up as he bolts to the guard’s station.

“Yes, sir. Queen here.”

“The Warden wants a word with you,” the guard says in a bored voice, pulling out the shackles, and Oliver’s heart drops.

“The Warden?” he asks suspiciously. There is never a good reason for the Warden of Slabside to want to see an inmate personally.

“Why?”

The guard offers the cuffs, waiting impatiently for Oliver to slip them on, shrugging. “Don’t know, don’t care. My business is to get you there.”

Oliver’s eyes cut to the clock on the wall again. It’s almost dinner time, the call will come any minute. He has no idea what the Warden wants, but it can’t be good and his mind instantly races to his wife, her absence at visitation, and he nearly doubles with worry.

Because Diaz is still on the loose and he can’t get a hold of anybody and God, Felicity and William are all he has left.

He nearly doesn’t make the walk on his own two feet, his knees shaking underneath him. He _knows_ something has happened.

The elevator ride and subsequent walk once at the administrative level is a relatively short one, yet somehow it feels like an eternity. A heavy feeling of dread fills Oliver’s gut, making him wonder if he’s walking his own personal green mile here.

The guard escorting him walks into the office, nodding shortly to the secretary before stopping short in front of the Warden’s personal office door.

“Queen’s here,” he tells the middle-aged woman behind the desk and she nods, announcing Oliver’s presence through the intercom and then the door opens and he’s pushed inside.

Oliver has personally seen the Warden on just two occasions so far, both times from afar and in passing. From close up, Warden Henderson is a tall man with a heavy build, his salt-and-pepper hair buzzed close to his head, military style.

He is sitting behind his desk, but he instantly rises to meet Oliver, an unmistakable sign of respect, which nearly sends Oliver to his knees, because there is no reason for the Warden to offer any respect to Oliver other than when delivering bad news.

“Mr. Queen, we haven’t met. Warden Henderson,” the Warden says. He doesn’t offer his hand. Oliver’s own are cuffed in front of him, linked by a chain with his shackled feet. What he sees in the hardened man’s eyes is compassion, a foreign concept in a place like this. Oliver’s world shatters around him.

“Tell me, are they alive?” he wheezes, his breath hitching in his lungs. “Tell me. Are my wife and son okay?”

The Warden gives him a funny look, cocking his head. “I don’t know how you-”

“Are they okay!?” Oliver forcefully pleads and demands at the same time, absolutely terrified and careless in the lack of respect he is showing the Warden. The man must see the devastation written all over his face because he ignores Oliver’s manner and goes right for it.

“I just received a call from your lawyer. She informed me your wife and son have been in a car accident earlier today. Their car was involved in a rollover.” Oliver’s heart stops, skipping a few beats. “They are both apparently out of any danger, but your son needed surgery for a broken arm. Both should be fine. I called you in because I thought you’d want to know.”

Oliver’s heart restarts a pounding rhythm in his chest. His head spins and he doesn’t know how he is still standing.

“They are gonna be okay.” The man repeats and there must be something on Oliver’s face that alarms him because the Warden gives him a concerned look. “I just wanted to tell you personally. I am sorry. Your wife seems like a nice lady.”

 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

That night, he doesn’t close his eyes, lying in his cell, terrified as all the worst-case scenarios seize his mind. His suspicion goes instantly to Diaz, but he doesn’t have enough information to go on.

The Warden said they were okay, but that was six hours ago, and God knows what happened in the meantime. Are they still safe? Are they hunted? Are they scared? Did John and Lyla take them under A.R.G.U.S.’s protection? He certainly hopes so. But again, he doesn’t know.

And the not knowing, the impotence of not being able to do shit about it, is killing him.

Being locked up here while they are out, unprotected and hurt and exposed. In unknown danger. What the hell was he thinking? Exposing his family like that and then leaving them to their own devices to fend for themselves?

He never felt more self-disgust in his life.

It’s the not-knowing. It kills him over and over throughout the night.

The first headcount is at six. By seven, the cells open for another count and then breakfast and later they are all ushered like cattle to the yard for exercise. The row of phones mocks him as they walk by. For a moment, he considers it, breaking away and just darting for the receiver. The guards would be on him before the call would even go through and he knows it’s his despair talking.

He needs to talk to someone, needs to know his family is alright from somebody he can trust. The inability to do anything is killing him. The images his mind conjured up during the night play on a loop behind his eyelids. It doesn’t help that he has a reference image to go hand in hand with his imagination; Felicity’s bloodied body broken and limp on a pavement, showered in shards of glass as she bleeds out in his arms. Only this time, next to her is William too, and Oliver is nowhere to be found because he got his ass thrown into prison in a grand self-sacrificing gesture.

By noon, he is stir-crazy, his forehead pressed against the chain link fence. Today, other inmates leave him in peace. They can see the murderous look he is wearing, the tight set of his shoulders, his jaw locked. His patience is non-existent. A loose cannon ready to explode in the face of the first person to as much as look at him wrong.

He lets the Warden’s words – a man he didn’t even know personally until yesterday – wash over him in another attempt to calm his jagged nerves, “ _They are going to be okay_ ,” “ _Your wife seems like a nice lady_.”

He seemed genuine in his concern and that makes it somehow worse. Because Oliver doesn’t know. The Warden said a car accident, but his son and wife are at risk of so much worse. Many of his enemies are still running loose around the city without him there to stop them or at least offer protection to the people closest to him.

And then there is still Diaz, free and on the loose. He was weak. He should have insisted Felicity and William go to protective custody. He should never have been so selfish as to allow them to stay in Star City in the first place, so vulnerable and exposed.

He trusts Lyla and Diggle, but for some things, you just can’t plan, as seen by yesterday’s events and God, he just needs to know they are okay. Just please, let them be okay.

By one in the afternoon, he is ready to jump out of his skin and break out of this place before hitching the first ride back to Star City. Only cold logic stops him, the image of his wife rolling her eyes at him in his mind’s eye stopping him from proceeding in the utter lunacy. “ _Oliver, it’s almost a four-hour drive and you will be allowed to get your hands on a phone in less than two. I know you are worried but have a little faith. Also, do the math_.”

He can’t help but smile at that before his face contorts into a grimace because he is obviously going crazy.

Okay. He takes a deep breath. Okay. He can hold out for one more hour.

In the end, he doesn’t need to wait that long. Ten minutes later, he is fetched from the yard by a pair of guards and led towards visitations, dread and hope mixing in the pit of his stomach. When he spots Jean and John sitting on the other side of the door, he doesn’t know whether to be elated or disappointed.

“Oliver,” Jean says in greeting, but it’s Diggle who cuts right to the chase.

“They are both fine, man. A little worse for wear but completely fine and safe.”

His body sinks into the chair opposite them, his cuffs rattling along with his nerves. He didn’t even give the guard the chance to free his hands, so eager to talk to John, but now he rises his linked hands to CO Jenkins, one of the young, nicer officers in a silent plea. Once free, he runs his hands over his face, rubbing it raw, feeling moisture on his cheeks and allowing a single sob to leave his heavy chest. He allows himself this one moment of weakness before he pulls himself together, needing answers.

Again, John beats him to it. “Not Diaz, nor any kind of attack.” Oliver opens his mouth, skeptical, ready to argue, but John vehemently shakes his head. “No Oliver. I know what you are thinking, but just no. An accident is all it was, an idiot on the phone who didn’t pay enough attention and ran a red light. An accountant with two small kids at home, social security number and ID checks out. It was an accident,” he repeats, leaving the words to hang in the air and sink in, but his eyes are open and unyielding holding Oliver’s. Thank God that John – bless his heart – knows him so well, for this is exactly what Oliver needed.

A choking sound leaves him, half sob and half a gulp of breath, a fish out of water, because now that the adrenaline is wearing off, the jitters of panic and anxiety are slowly creeping up his spine, a sickening feeling finding residence in the pit of his stomach. Oliver knows he won’t be able to shake the feeling for days.

He never could deal with bad news well, never could stand still and wait out a storm. Always had to do something. Whether beat up a bunch of Miracuru soldiers or Dhark’s ghosts, but his hands are chained now. This situation right here, sitting on his ass and waiting for news while leaving others to take care of what is most precious to him, it’s pure agony.

“How are they? Tell me what happened,” he forces through gritted teeth, forcing the light-headedness to subside, squeezing his eyes shut to not see the dark spots dance in front of his vision.

So close to losing it. To losing them.

“Felicity was driving William to school. An asshole in an SUV rammed them from the side at full speed, causing the car to flip on its roof. My guys from Felicity’s security detail were in a car right behind them, so they were there in a matter of seconds. The emergency vehicles got to the scene within five minutes. Cut them out from their seatbelts.” Oliver’s stomach gives an involuntary lurch. “Both are black and blue but all things considered, still incredibly lucky.

“William has an open fracture to his ulna below his elbow. He was taken into surgery and had his arm reset. He’s wearing a cast now. He is being released,” John gives his watch a quick glance at his watch, “as we speak.”

Oliver really has a hard time concentrating on not emptying the contents of his stomach right there to the feet of his best friend and lawyer.

When he doesn’t speak, John reaches out to pat Oliver’s hand, a quick touch of reassurance before the guard notices. “They are going to be fine, man. I swear to you.” Seeing the slightly sickened look on Oliver’s face, his features gentle. “Nearly gave me a heart attack, too.”

“Felicity?” he presses, because though he got detailed information about his son’s condition, there was so little said about his wife.

“Fine. Her left side took most of the damage. She has a few cuts, a lot of bruising and abrasions. She has one helluva shiner, but nothing that won’t heal over time. She has a mild concussion but nothing is broken. You know our girl, she is a tough cookie, that one. Went full protective mamma bear in the hospital with William,” Diggle adds, offering Oliver an amused, knowing smile. “She hasn’t left his side since signing herself out.”

At that mental image, Oliver barks out a laugh that ends on a sob, because of course, of course Felicity would do that, and Oliver uses both his hands to wipe his eyes and cheeks dry.

“Call her, man,” Diggle says. “Tonight, your usual time, she’ll be waiting.” John’s words shouldn’t surprise him, but they do.

“She lost her phone in the crash but she already re-routed her number. I’m supposed to let you know they’ll both be waiting. Also, in Felicity’s own words, don't you dare do anything stupid.” John says with a smirk, a knowing twinkle in his eyes and this time, Oliver’s bark of laughter is genuine.

“A stupid accident, Oliver. Nothing more.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He tries to play by the rules and wait until five pm their usual time to call. He only manages until half past three when the cell doors officially open to gen-pop for the afternoon. Still, an achievement, he thinks as he waits for the call to go through, considering he was ready to break out of this place just a few hours ago.

She picks up on the second ring as if she was awaiting his call, and who is he kidding, of course she was.

“Hey, baby,” she greets and he has to lean heavily against the concrete wall to not slide down at the wave of relief that washes over him at the sound of her voice.

He nearly mewls, his throat clogged. He can’t find his voice after that, but it doesn’t matter, his wife knows him anyway. She carries the conversation, shares as much as she can to appease his mind that’s still on edge. He can hear the amusement in her voice when she finally calls William over. Oliver lets his son’s voice wash over him like a balm as he enthusiastically tells him about his cast. How he and Felicity spent the past two hours drawing pictures and writing silly notes all over it.

They are too upbeat, too cheery, no doubt playing it up for him, wanting to calm him, take away his worry. It works though, the love that surges inside his chest for them being almost too much.

He tells his son he is proud of him. Instructs him to take it easy though, and to watch out for Felicity. Then he tells his wife the same.

They are a well-played duo by now, they both answering in kind. He was never more grateful for the fact that they have each other.

“I love you guys. So much.”

“We love you too, Oliver.”

“Yeah, dad, don’t worry about us.”

His heart surges, the longing so sharp it’s a stabbing pain in his chest. He barely made it two months without them.

He honestly can’t imagine a lifetime.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More?  
> Also, I would love to read your thoughts.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to @almondblossomme of Tumblr for the beta!!! Betas are GOLDEN. Srsly. Hugs.

**FELICITY**

“Hey, Felicity, when is Raisa getting here?”

Felicity looks up from her computer, her eyes already on William but her mind still processing the email she was reading.

“Umm,” _Oh right, Raisa!_ “Raisa called earlier, Will. Sorry, I forgot to tell you. She had an emergency with her daughter, the one who is having a baby, remember? So I guess it’s just the two of us tonight.”

“Oh.” Disappointment laces the single syllable, but he doesn’t elaborate further, sheepishly fidgeting on his spot, which finally gets her full attention, Mr. Wang’s email momentarily forgotten.

"Why? Did you need something from her? Whatever it is, I’m sure I can help too!” She offers helpfully, then adds on an afterthought, slightly pouting. “Unless it’s cooking. I really can’t help you with that, so if it’s cooking, I am afraid you are on your own, buddy.”

He offers her a shy smile but doesn’t bite on her attempt at humor. Whatever it is, she knows it must be bothering him. So offering a reassuring smile, she makes the effort to pointedly push the laptop away and in a warm and inviting gesture silently pats the spot next to her on the couch.

William gives her another shy smile, his feet finally ungluing from the spot as he drags his sneakers across the room before heavily plopping down next to her.

He doesn’t talk, doesn’t turn to her, his eyes trained on the coffee table instead as he silently broods. The familiarity of the gesture catches Felicity off guard and she has to bite her cheek not to laugh out loud at how the boy’s a spitting image of his father right now.

Okay. So serious talk. She can do that.

William is a hard nut to crack sometimes, his nature more of a silent introvert. Felicity prods a little, _literally_ , poking his side with a finger and leaning sideways, bumping her shoulder against his slender frame.

"What is it William?” She asks softly. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

His shoulders rise in a protective gesture, ears almost disappearing as he awkwardly mumbles. “I just thought- I need- I need to take a shower. And with my arm broken—"

_Oh. Right. Damn._

Because Raisa has been late very conveniently taken care of helping out William in this particular department and the both of them – Felicity as well as William – had been more than happy with the arrangement because new step-moms helping teenage boys undress and shower is more than a little awkward.

_Ugh!_

Felicity tries to play it cool, although her pulse has certainly picked up; wondering if she were better equipped for these kinds of things if she actually read any of the books on parenting she had purchased and never read so far. Not that she didn’t plan on it. Just… _life_. It has a tendency to get in the way of doing important things lately. Now she really wishes she had prioritized this particular issue. Something tells her though that this specific topic wouldn’t be covered in any book either way.

Clearing her throat, she turns to face him, plastering a reassuring smile on her face and forcing a level of enthusiasm into her voice she isn’t feeling at all. “You know, I can help you too.”

“Sure…” he says slowly, nodding his head noncommittally, pretending he is thinking about it even if he is really not. Because she _knows_ that expression, has seen it on Oliver’s face countless times in the past – the one where his mouth says yes but everything else screams _Hell, no_. And that riles her just a little, because seriously, this is ridiculous.

“I mean, I know you prefer Raisa for these kinds of things, but she is not here and I’d really rather not have you wander around the loft smelling like something a cat dragged in for a whole week.” His eyes go huge at the mention of Raisa’s absence possibly taking up to a week and yeah, that did not get across that well, but she can’t backpedal now. “So I guess we will have to find a way to make this work without her.”

He fidgets on the spot, unconvinced and embarrassed, and she understands him, she really does, even if it’s a little ridiculous and under any other circumstances would maybe be even a little funny.

She doesn’t particularly look forward to it either, to be honest, because if somebody told her she would had to help her almost-teenager of a step-son in the shower one day, and that before she even turned thirty, she would send them straight to the nuthouse, but hey, there are a family. And it’s just a shower, right?

Well, as it turns out, it’s not. Despite William wearing a pair of swimwear for the most revealing part, it’s all kinds of awkward and embarrassing, to the both of them, and half an hour later, as they finally manage to find a rhythm through the squinting and not-peeking and William blushing and stumbling through the whole ordeal, Felicity herself can’t get away quick enough herself.

This is definitely a task for a mother, and she’s _not_ his mom. She didn’t give birth to him, she didn’t bathe him as a baby, didn’t dress him till he could do it himself, making the process a natural part of their relationship and it’s definitely anything but a natural process for the two of them. She is not even Raisa, who has come to represent an older, grand-motherly figure, a person who has known even Oliver – William’s father – his whole life. She is just Felicity, the super-young and extremely awkward wife of William’s dad, a woman he has known for barely a year.

And it stings a little, thinking about it like that, but Felicity, unfortunately, doesn’t have the luxury to dwell on that, because if she’s feeling like shit, William is looking a hundred times worse. And although there’s nothing she’d rather do than run away and never speak of this again, this is their reality now, and it will continue to be their reality for the next week so they need to find a rhythm and a common ground to make this thing work. And make it less awkward in the process, because oh boy, this was all kinds of mortifying and she can’t imagine a repeat performance in the near future.

William is standing in his room now, a towel wrapped tightly around his hips, his cast still tightly fixed to his chest, looking a little lost as to what to do now. Together they somehow managed to keep his cast dry, so at least in that department, Felicity can congratulate herself on a mission well accomplished. And that’s what this has been really about, hasn’t it?

Felicity makes a quick decision. She crosses the room, opens William’s underwear drawer and resolutely picks out a cute pair of boys’ briefs with little baseballs and bats printed on them.

In fact, she’d the one who’s bought them for him. She’s picked out a lot of his clothes, actually, even though he probably doesn’t realize it. _Well, phew, okay._ So she might not be his mom, but maybe it’s time to show him she plans on acting the part in every way that counts, embarrassment notwithstanding.

“William,” she calls in a calm voice, drawing his attention before beckoning him closer and pointing for him to sit on the side of his bed. He makes his way towards her but spotting the undergarment in her hands, he freezes, looking petrified. Which, in turn, makes her huff, because this is utterly ridiculous.

“Will, seriously? After everything we’ve been through together? Get your butt over here, mister!” she orders. There’s playfulness in her tone but also a level of command William doesn’t dare to disobey.

She crouches down in front of him, wincing slightly as her back spasms and she drops to her knee a little more heavily than expected, an involuntarily, pained grunt leaving her lips.

“Felicity?” William calls in alarm, his good arm shooting up to grip her shoulder in an attempt to steady her when she wobbles on her knees.

“I am fine. Really. It’s nothing,” she quickly forces out through gritted teeth, forcing her legs to lock in place. She quickly glances at William, throwing him an assuring smile, ignoring the pins and needles shooting through her right leg while using his distraction with her state to put his feet through the holes in his underwear.

“You don’t have to do that,” William mumbles, but she’s had enough of this. This shouldn’t even be an issue.

She takes a long, deep breath, plopping backwards on her ass as she looks up at him.

“William, did your dad ever tell you how I got injured two years ago?”

It’s a rhetorical question, of course, but it gets his full attention. “I was shot and left paralyzed from the waist down and it was your dad who had taken care of me back then.”

William’s mouth falls open in shock at her blunt words. And yeah, there is no way he would have known – or remembered – fleetingly glancing a woman in a wheelchair when he was reunited with his mom after his abduction by Darhk. She wasn’t anybody to him back then. But she is now, and she needs to make him understand.

“We were chasing a bad man back then. In fact, you know him. Damian Darkh?” She poses it as a question, but she knows he remembers, and all he gives in return is a tiny nod.

“Anyway, Darhk had it out for your dad and everybody he cared about, a little like…” she huffs, “every big bad villain we’ve encountered ever since. Very unoriginal,” she complains, rolling her eyes at him, then realizes she let herself get sidetracked. She continues, all the while using the momentary distraction to slowly make her progress in helping William dress.

“We were- In fact, we just got engaged, your dad and me. It was during his electoral campaign, and we were driving home in a limo from a campaign gig.”

She doesn’t want to dwell on the details too much. It might be in the past now, but the memory still makes her heart pound and stomach painfully knot.

“Anyway, we were ambushed, the car was rammed from the side. Then all hell broke loose as gunmen started to fire ammo at the car. By the time they were finished, the car looked more like a block of mangled swiss cheese. The driver didn’t make it.” she adds quietly, remembering the other casualty of that day often overlooked by the media.

“How did you get away?” William asks with baited breath and Felicity just smiles, pulling the T-shirt carefully over William’s head. “Your dad,” she simply says, because it’s all the explanation she really needs to give.

“But you got hurt.”

“Yeah.”

Not a fond memory. She smooths the fabric over his chest, adjusting it over the cast so it doesn’t pull. “I got shot. Two bullets. One nicked my spine. The doctors did everything they could, but in the end, the spine injury was irreversible. At least, that’s what was believed at that time.”

“Felicity,” William utters in horror, and once again, she is swept away by the amount of compassion she sees in the boy’s eyes. For _her_. Her past suffering.

“It was bad for a while.” She admits with a wince, not wanting to sugarcoat it for him. She knows he can take it. He reaches up with his good hand them, wrapping it around her forearm in comfort.

“I am sorry.”

“It’s okay. Curtis – the genius he is – eventually invented a biostimulant for me. It’s an electronic chip of sorts that’s been implanted into my spine that helps me walk again.”

She makes a little curtsy for him, just to elevate the mood a little. “That’s what we are currently trying to do with Helix. Replicate and develop a series of medical bio-stimulants for mass production which could make other people walk or use their paralyzed limbs again. But for a couple of months there, I was paralyzed. I needed a wheelchair to get anywhere, I couldn’t walk,” she says in a quiet voice. “And I never felt more dependant and vulnerable in my entire life.”

William’s eyes fall down to the ground, but that’s not the message she is trying to pass on here.

“But you know what’s the most prominent thing I remember from that time, William?” she urges, one hand on his shoulder while the other reaches up to cup his cheek and direct his face to look at her. “I remember your dad. And how he did everything in his power to make it easier for me. He would change my dressing when I finally came home from the hospital, he would hand out my pills so I wouldn’t get into pain, would carry me down the stairs in the morning and bring me up at night. In fact, we were living in this very loft back then, so you’ve seen how high and steep those steps are but it never stopped him running up and down with me in his arms showing off the easy with which he could do it.” She gives him a small smile before she continues solemnly once again.

“He made adjustments to the loft so it would be easier for me to navigate it in the wheelchair on my own too, so I could be more independent. He would cook me dinner, fetch me coffee, my tablet, or a blanket when I was cold. He would help bathe me and dress me. Even helped me on the toilet sometimes. For a while, it felt demeaning. I felt like a child. And I was utterly miserable.” Her hand brushes his cheek, a soft smile stretching across her face.

“And you know what? You dad never even thought twice about any of it. He did it all, naturally, happily, always. There was nothing too embarrassing or too off-limits for him. Yeah, some things were a little awkward at first, but we were engaged, and we were in love, and we were a family, of sorts. And that’s what families do. They take care of each other, no matter what.” Her hand roamed over his wet hair as she regarded him, willing him to understand. “We were a family, even if we weren’t married back then. And now there is you too.”

“But I am not your son.”

She was surprised how much that hurt to hear.

“You are not my blood, no.” She admits, gulping down the lump in her throat.

“And I am not your mom. I will never try be your mom, never try to take her place. But you are my family now, and a son to me in every way that counts. I love you. You are the flesh and blood of the man I chose to love and marry and make my own family. Your dad, he isn’t my flesh and blood either, but he’s my family nonetheless. He is the family I chose.”

“You didn’t choose me, though,” he points out in a small voice and she can’t help it, her face stretches into a big smile.

“And yet I love you. And I choose you now. Does that make sense?” And wow, this conversation got out of hand so quickly.

He slowly nods, mulling over her words. “So you say that as a family, there is nothing we won’t do for each other? That we always take care of each other.”

Her answering smile is radiant as she pats his shoulder in appreciation. “You are a very smart boy, William. You know, it took your dad years to catch on.”

That makes him bark out a laugh and she lets her hands fall away from him, taking a couple of steps away to put a little distance between them, not wanting to make him uncomfortable by lingering too long. Yet her heart is light as she regards him, knowing they are going to be okay.

“Felicity, can I ask you something else?” William asks, his face growing contemplative again.

“Of course.”

He vaguely points to her midsection. “Your spine, the injury. Is that why you are limping now?“

The question catches her off guard, knocking the wind out of her. Damnit, the boy is too smart for his own good. It’s not even a question. He _knows_.

For his sake, she has tried to play her discomfort as a direct result of the car crash, something to heal over time, even though deep down, she knew there was more to it. Knew it had nothing to do with the bruising sustained in the crash and everything to do with something being wrong with her implant.

But having William ask so outwardly, she can’t lie to his face even if it was the easier road to go. Not after what they’ve already been through and most definitely not after the conversation they’d just had. She doesn’t want him to worry too much though.

“I don’t know. It’s possible,” she hedges.

He scrunches up his face. “What does that mean?”

She sighs. “It means that I suspect something has gone wrong with the chip during the crash, but I don’t know for sure.”

“Well…can’t you find out? Have it checked out and fixed, or something?”

She plops down onto the bed now, suddenly wary with the direction the conversation has turned. “That’s the tricky part. It’s a one of a kind invention.”

“Well, Mr. Holt invented it. Can’t _he_ take a look at it?”

He can. But that’s exactly the problem. There is only so much he can do from the outside. And the alternative- its not an option. Not right now anyway.

“He will,” she says vaguely.

“When?” and when she doesn’t reply, his voice turns slightly frustrated.

“Felicity, does he even know?” and now it’s William rising his eyebrow knowingly, putting her down on the spot and jeez, is she really getting reprimanded by a twelve-year old?

And its unfair, how stupid and silly she feels – how _petulant_ – under William’s knowing look. She shakes her head sheepishly.

“Fe-li-ci-ty!” William says in frustration and God, why is the universe torturing her with a spitting image of her husband right now?

“I just haven’t gotten around to it yet, okay?” she tries to defend herself, but it sounds lame even to her own ears. “I will. Tomorrow. I promise.” She adds, and that seems to appease him a little. He nods.

“Okay. Because we are a family. And when you care about me, that means I care about you too.” He says gravely, pulling up to his full high, and her heart surges with her love for this boy.

“I love you, buddy.” The words just leave her mouth, slip up without any conscious thought, and before there is a chance for her words to cause any more awkwardness, she rises off the bed and pulls him into a firm, tight hug. Because this boy is an angel and despite not meaning to say those words out loud, she means them.

 

XXX

 

“Felicity, you won’t believe the call I just got! Global Metacorx has asked Helix to come make a short-notice presentation on our new line of bio-stimulants! Somebody apparently vacated a spot on their investment panel this weekend and they are asking _us_ to jump in!”

It takes a while to register what Curtis e is saying, because this line of code she’s been working on the past couple of hours is just not cooperating, but when it finally does-

“Oh my God, Curtis!!” she exclaims, turning to him from her spot, eyes going huge. “That’s absolutely incredible! This could be the break-through we’ve been waiting for!”

“Right!?” he squeals – there is just no other word for the sound he makes – his grin nearly splitting his face. “If we got their funding, Helix could go from our living-room operating project to a multi-million company in the span of just mere months!” he gushes enthusiastically and yeah, that prospect sounds pretty sweet to Felicity’s ears too, because having to feed a teenage boy isn’t exactly cheap and it would be a nice thing to know she wouldn’t have to worry anymore about how to pay rent for this unreasonably huge loft she loves but can barely afford at the moment.

“Curtis, that’s awesome!” she squeals herself and throws her arms around him, letting his big body dwarf hers, because this is the single good news she’s got in the past couple of weeks and God, she really, _really_ needs good news right now.

“When and how?” she fires, clapping her hands together, in her head already composing a mental list of things to do. She starts to pace, letting her thoughts roam free. “I mean, obviously, we know when and how. It’s this weekend, right? I mean, I know it’s on short notice and in Central City, but we can still kick ass if we just pull a couple of long nights this week.“ she does some quick thinking, “Hmm, Raisa is out of the question, but I could certainly ask John or even Dinah to watch over William. I mean, it’s gonna be just one night, right? We go Saturday and return Sunday, or-” she turns to Curtis, finally stopping her ramble, because the look Curtis is giving her doesn’t correspondent will her enthusiasm and certainly not _his own_ from just a couple of moments ago.

In fact, he looks uneasy and more than a little uncomfortable.

“Actually, I was thinking I might go alone,” he hedges. “Just this time.”

Felicity’s mouth forms a little “O”, her brows furrowing and he quickly continues. “You know, obviously, you now have William to take care of, and there is enough on your plate here as it is. It’s just a simple presentation one person can easily pull off and it’s in Central City and to travel there for just -” he flounders through his words and Felicity wonders who he is trying to convince here more, her or himself.

“Right,” she says, despite that it doesn’t make sense at all, because they both know that this is _not_ a simple presentation but the biggest thing that has happened to their company ever since they created it.

They both fall silent, but it’s not a comfortable type of silence they are used to while working, not by a far stretch. Felicity is studying him now, her head slightly cocked as the wheels inside her skull furiously spin, trying to come up with a possible explanation. His frame suddenly feels too big for the space they are standing in and he’s uncomfortably shuffling under her scrutiny, his silence telling her very loudly what he obviously can’t bring himself to express with words and understanding dawns on her at the miserable, slightly pained look he gives her.

“Right,” she utters, and this time, it _does_ make perfect sense.

“Because we wouldn’t want Helix to be presented to potential investors by the wife of none other than Oliver Queen, the notorious vigilante and terrorist currently serving life in prison,” she says coldly, not feeling an ounce bad when her sharp words make Curtis flinch, looking like he wished earth could swallow him whole. Because his silence is all the confirmation she needs.

“Felicity- I just, I-” he starts, and she stays silent, lets him stew in the mess of his own making, because she is so damn tired already of having to justify her husband, _her_ _life_ , all the time to people around her. She had thought that at least between them, her and Curtis, it could be different. She thought that if anyone would understand, it would be Curtis.

 “Of course, Helix is still our project, our company, Felicity. You and me,” he tries, jingling his hands nervously.

Her eyebrows raise at that, because he is kind of being a lot contradictive right now. And a dick on top of that too.

“I just thought that having you – _personally_ – appear in front of the board at this stage of discussions—with Oliver’s arrest still so fresh on people’s minds—that it might be better if we just kept it a little more quiet at the moment, you know?”

She does know. She does know more than she would like. It’s _her_ life that’s been on the front pages, her face that’s been the media’s central piece in this whole clusterfuck. It was her who had to absorb all the glances and rumors and stupid gossip that’s been spreading through this town like a disease in the last couple of weeks. Her and Oliver and William and no one else, because they’ve got protection, immunity and anonymity, curtesy provided by her stupid, self-sacrificing idiot of a husband.

So yes, she is _very_ painfully aware, thank you very much.

She just never thought the rumors would hit quite so close to home. Would matter to the people closest to her. Matter to her work. But apparently, there is no escape. And truth to be told, if she is completely, brutally honest with herself, Curtis is probably right.

Which makes it that much more bitter to swallow.

He looks at her with unease, his body a little retracted, arms in a defensive position, as if he expects her to lash out and hit him, and yes, she realizes, the Felicity from a couple of months ago would probably do exactly that, would yell and argue and maybe deliver a good-measured punch or two.

But right now, Felicity can’t find it in herself to care. Well, no. She cares. That’s why it stings so much. But the idea of mustering the energy to actually do something about it is gone. This is her life now. Just another thing to accept she’ll never get back. Her anonymity and innocence, because she’s been tainted, branded a traitor and a criminal by proxy.

There are just too many fronts to battle on right now, so she has to pick her fights very carefully.

Last week when a kid at William’s school called him a fucktard with a murderer of a father? That’s what she used her energy on, marching into the school and demanding to talk to the principal, making it perfectly clear that such behavior shouldn’t be tolerated, at any school for that matter.

This? Not worth it.

“Okay, Curtis,” she concedes , slightly annoyed when she sees his guard hasn’t gone down, his body still ready for a blow she had no intention to strike.

Her left leg is killing her today, on fire with phantom pins and needles. She actually wanted to talk to Curtis about her stimulant problem today, but after the conversation they’ve just had…well, probably not such a good idea now.

She plops back onto to couch, suddenly spend as if she’s run a marathon. Not that she would know, she never particularly liked running.

“It’s okay, Curtis,” she repeats tiredly, trying to sound reassuringly. She is not looking at him thought, keeping her eyes shut as her back hits the couch.

“Make the official confirmation, send out our application. Then go to Central City and kick some ass,” she offers, pulling her glasses off her face and pinching the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache spreading.

“You are not angry?” he asks, wincing, and she answers with a humorless laugh. Because really?

Anger doesn’t even start to cover it; the rage and injustice she is waking with every morning and falling asleep to every night is not something easily put into words. But Curtis? John? Or the rest of their friends? She can’t be angry with them. Can’t muster the energy.

Not when they’ve been the only solid presences that’s been keeping her above water in the past couple of months. It’s not saying much. But she can’t afford to alienate the only people left who care about her.

“No, Curtis, not angry.” She utters. “Not with you,” she adds on an afterthought. “We need this. Helix needs this.”

He gives her a tentative smile, his eyes flooding with regret and understanding, silent apology hidden somewhere there too and God, it’s even worse like this, the pity he is showing her. Before she can turn away, however, Curtis is enveloping her in bear hug, not letting her escape and she knows he’s seen too much.

She feels the weight of the world on her shoulders, is at the end of her rope, and they’ve merely begun. She doesn’t know how she is supposed to do this. But she has no choice.

She lets a single hot tear roll down her cheek, because the embrace is doing something to her, offering warmth and comfort she’s denied herself for so long, stirring something in places that’s been cold and abandoned. And though it’s not Oliver’s arms providing the support, she still draws strength from it. Because this is all she has left.

**OLIVER**

 

He asked her not to come. Despite dying to see her, to see with his own two eyes that she was okay, he asked her to stay home instead and get some rest.

It’s been just a week and she needed to heal, not spend a total of seven hours in a car to sit across him in an uncomfortable metal chair for two hours. He tried to reason with her over the phone the whole week, but she wouldn’t listen to his reasoning, his quiet pleading for her to see reason falling on deaf ears.

Of course she doesn’t listen, his stubborn, infuriating, amazing wife.

Exactly at 2:30 am, his ass is hauled from gen-pop and pushed towards visitations and the summons doesn’t even surprise him, because he’s always somehow known she wouldn’t listen anyway. He should be sorry. Sorry that she is pushing herself so hard, sorry that she has to visit a maximum security prison that’s three and a half hour drive away just to see her husband in person, sorry that he couldn’t convince her a short visit was not worth the cost of her driving here.

But he is not, God help him, he is not sorry, his heart doing a little summersault in his chest just at the mere thought of seeing her. It’s been _two_ weeks.

The feeling of happy anticipation is brutally quenched once he finally walks through the door and gets to lay his eyes on her just as she is walking through the Visitors entrance herself, her face a myriad of colors ranging from purple through green to yellow. There are a couple of cuts already healing, the deepest one on her cheek, taped together with butterfly band aids.

Seeing her like this is like a punch to his gut.

Even when she holds her head high, she still walks with a limp, and it takes everything in him not to run across the room towards her with an offer of his shoulder to lean on while she walks.

Even the guard, Holmes, sees her apparent struggle and pulls out the chair for her, which earns him a quiet ‘ _Thank you_ ’ from Felicity and a nod of appreciation from Oliver.

“Hi,” she utters after a moment of silence, squirming under his scrutinizing look.

He can’t tear his eyes off her, the horror of her injuries stealing his breath away. He was not prepared for this, Oliver realizes. He thought he was, but the scope of the accident, up so close for him to see—it’s too much. Never in their six years working together and fighting crime as vigilantes had he ever seen her battered quite like this.

He thought- Well, he doesn’t know what he’s though. But he didn’t expect this.

It pulls at his heartstrings, makes his nostrils flare with impotent rage, because if there is one person in the world who doesn’t deserve this, it’s his wife.

When he doesn’t pick up on her greeting, she takes in upon herself to talk, her eyes shying away from him, no doubt feeling uncomfortable under his piercing look. And yet he can’t bring himself to look away.

“So, Curtis drove me. He appointed himself to be my personal chauffeur. Again,” she gives a tiny, hollow chuckle, and suddenly his eyes burn.

She spent four hours in a car, banged up and hurting a mere week after being run from the road _by a car_ , just to see him. _Him_. The man who put her in this position in the first place. He has no words for that.

He has aged ten years in the last couple of days, worrying about the two most important people in his life, and now that she is here, he can’t find his fucking words to say as much as a simple ‘ _Hi_ ’.

“You know, a _hello_ would be appreciated at this point,” she quips, looking uneasy, and he forcefully shakes himself out of his stupor. Without thinking, he reaches out his hands, grasps hers across the table, tightly squeezing her fingers.

“God, Felicity,” he laments in a hoarse voice, but before he can say anything more-

“No touching,” Holmes warns, making Felicity flinch and try to pull away, but Oliver will have none of it today. He levels the CO with a murderous look, for once completely careless in his actions, his patience non-existent.

“I am trying to offer comfort to my wife after she’s gone through a trauma. Don’t you have a heart?!” he snaps.

He does regret his outburst the moment the words leave his mouth though, because this could be it. He has no power here, the CO’s do, and Holmes could end their visit on the spot and then her whole ordeal to come in the first place would be for nothing.

He holds his breath but all it takes is Holmes taking one look at Felicity’s devastated face and the man takes a step back, leaving them in peace.

A breath Oliver doesn’t know he was holding leaves his mouth and his eyes return to Felicity once again. “You had me so _so_ scared, sweetheart,” he confesses, intertwining their fingers. Her eyes fall shut and she takes a forceful gulp. For a moment, Oliver desperately hopes she won’t start crying, because if she does, he will too.

“I know,” she finally whispers in a hoarse tone. “It looks really, really bad. I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared in my entire life. Which with our history, is definitely saying something.”

She chuckles forcefully, but it’s without real mirth, her eyes again shying away.

She is trying to be funny for him. It breaks his heart.

“Don’t,” he says simply, pushing his luck – and the obvious lenience of the CO, who is currently pointedly looking the other way – and pulling her hands to his mouth to press tiny kisses against her knuckles. He just can’t not. “Talk to me,” he presses.

It’s the tipping point, and despite that only a single tear slips from the corner of her eye, Oliver knows she is breaking inside. “The whole time, all I thought about was how I couldn’t lose William too. How that would break me. Break us. How you would never forgive-”

She falls silent when he forcefully shakes her head at her, willing her to stop, to say no more.

He asked her to talk but he was not prepared for the words, and they break him. His own eyes fill and he doesn’t care, doesn’t care who sees or hears, because his wife is here, hurting, and there is not a fucking thing he can do to take away her pain.

“It was an accident, Felicity. There is nothing you could have done. I could never- I would never-” he’s lost for words. “I- I love you.”

He’s never meant them more, those three words, but they never sounded emptier as right now. He’s desperately holding onto her hands, willing everything he’s feeling into that single touch, trying to anchor her while she silently weeps, forcing his focus to stay on her eyes and not the mottled bruises covering her face and neck before disappearing underneath her sweater.

He so desperately wants to kiss her.

“I am sorry,” the words slip out of his mouth as his control slips, his own tears falling. “I am sorry I made this stupid decision, I am sorry I can’t be there for you. I am sorry you are alone and that you had the bad judgement to choose me as your husband.”

He means every word. That’s why he doesn’t expect her reaction when she barks out a laugh, then another. Still smiling, she extracts one hand to wipe at the tears staining her cheeks.

“Jesus, Oliver. You should be writing children’s books,” she chides him, but there is surprising lightness in her words.

He does have the decency to look sheepish. Wow, he really does have the ability to make it about him every single time, doesn’t he?

He takes a deep breath, willingly re-directing the spiral of his thought.

“How are you doing?” he asks instead, his fingers never leaving hers.

“No, that was stupid. Of course you’re not doing great. How are you- how are you holding up?”

She rewards him with a tremulous smile for that.

They talk about the accident, about how William is holding up. At one point, she takes out a handkerchief, rolling in between her fingers nervously as she recounts how very scared she was at the thought of William being hurt, or worse.

“Don’t you dare blame yourself, Felicity,” Oliver tells her. “Never blame yourself. I left William in your care because I knew, with absolute certainty, that you would be everything he ever needed. More than I could ever be.“ She starts shaking her head at her, but he pushes through, unwilling to hear her denial, his words not up to discussion. “Right from the first day you came to tutor him, I knew that his life would be better with you in it. I still stand by that.” He can see her bottom lip tremble, sees how much his words affect her. He wishes he could do more. Offer more. But he can’t, so he better make good use of them.

“I always knew that if I had to pick just one of the two of us to parent William, I would choose you. I’d always choose you. I know it’s not fair, to put this burden of responsibility on you. You never asked for it-” he feels terrible just thinking about it. If their roles were reversed-

“It’s not a burden.” She interrupts, a twinkle appearing in her eye. “William is the only thing that’s keeping me going right now. The only thing I have of you. It doesn’t hurt that he’s kind and funny and really, really smart.” She offers with a small smile and it works, God help him, it works. Oliver let’s his head fall, his shoulders slumping in relief for the first time in the past week. It finally starts to sink it, that they made it. Are alive, and together, and safe. For now.

“God,” he whispers, running a hand across his face. “I am so relieved you both are okay.”

They are not. But they will be. And it has to be enough for now.

“Yeah.”

They fall silent after that, looking at each other, having one of those wordless conversations they always mastered so effortlessly, until Felicity finally breaks the comfortable silence.

“You know, from all of the possibilities regarding ending up living the single parent slash -“ she uses her fingers to make air quotations, “- step-mom on top of that, I ended up with the nicest kid in the world.” Her face breaks into a fond smile when she thinks about William, and it makes his chest tighten with longing.

“You know,” he echoes her words, “from all of the possibilities of ever doing the single-father of a ten-year old boy who’s just lost his mom thing, I ended up with the best, most amazing woman to do this with. Thank you, Felicity. I can’t- I don’t know what I’d do. Where I’d ever be without you.”

She stays silent at that, but her eyes are piercing on his, gazing directly into his soul, perfect understanding passing between them. He wishes, for the millionth time, he could do something about that look. Like cradling her face in his hands and kiss her senseless until both of their heartaches were gone.

He can’t, and that makes it so much harder. Her hands tug at his until he lifts his eyes again to her.

“Hey,” she whispers. “I love you.”

She’s punctuating every word with a squeeze to his hands, her voice like silk, softly gliding over the jagged edges of his soul. He merely nods, stupidly, humbled once again by her words.

Time is running short though and there is one more matter he needs to address, one thing that has put him on edge ever since she walked through the door. It’s more of a hunch, but he can’t not bring it up.

“Your limp.”

He just lays it out there, a statement, and waits for her reaction, because he can’t – he won’t – have her lie on this for his own protection.

“What about it?” she throws back with a careless shrug, her tone way too casual, but the flicker of fear in her eyes betrays her. There’s the slightest twitch to the corner of her lips before she masterfully schools her features again, but it’s enough of a tell-tell sign to put him on edge. The fact that she is trying to hide it, dismiss it, is enough to tell him his hunch is right.

“It’s not from an injury caused by the accident, is it?”

Again, not a question. He holds her gaze, daring her to deny it and lie to him outward. She is the first to break eye-contact, flustered, her hands twitching in his. She almost pulls away but he doesn’t let her, holding onto them even firmer.

“Sweetheart, please. Talk to me.” It’s the second time he’s had to plead with her today. He would do it again in a heartbeat, if she only told him the truth.

“Erhh..”she finally gives in, still not looking at him, eyes fixed on the table and their intertwined fingers. “It’s the chip. Something during the crash must have done some damage. It’s weird. Maybe it moved, maybe it cinched something in my spine. I don’t know.”

 “You don’t _know_?” He asks, his surprise causing his inquiry to end in a loud tone. He immediately catches himself once he sees her flinch. He doesn’t want to add to her stress. But at the same time, he is appalled and terrified as he grapples for words.

“Felicity, how serious is this?”

“It’s nothing. I mean, it’s _something_. Just nothing all things considered,” she rolls her eyes, trying to appease him, but it only sounds more alarming bells. Because this is huge. This is everything, and God, she needs to take care of herself, absolutely can’t be so careless with her health. The mere thought makes him physically sick.

“Are you in pain? No, scratch that, how _much_ pain are you in?”

Her silence speaks loud enough and he groans. “Honey, please! What’s going on with you?”

“I don’t know, okay?!” she snaps back loudly, annoyed and miserable and all in between. “It started after the crash. My legs, they just- they don’t seem to cooperate the way they are supposed to. Sometimes one leg feels more weak; other times my knee gives way. I’ve got hot and cold flashes in them from time to time, pins and needles running through the muscles at various intervals, but I can’t pinpoint what’s exactly wrong. It’s a myriad of symptoms that come and go as they please.”

“And it didn’t occur to you to have it checked out?”

He doesn’t want to be angry with her, he really doesn’t, but the utter lack of selfcare and sheer reason on her part is scaring the shit out of him.

“What do you want me to say, Oliver?” she spits bitterly. “It’s not an exact science. The stimulant is one of its kind, not even on the market yet, so it’s not like I can waltz into the nearest hospital and demand the doctors to check it out.”

It’s a lame excuse, and for some reason, it makes him unreasonably angry with her.

“That’s not what I am saying, Felicity, and you know it. Regular doctors can’t help you, but it’s not like your stimulant was a gift from God magically appearing on your doorstep one day. So I’d expect Curtis- you know, Curtis, the man who actually invented the thing in the first place to- by now at least- have an idea what could be wrong and how to fix it. What does he have to say about it?” he inquires. He can’t believe Curtis wouldn’t do something about this by now.

“Well, I actually haven’t gotten to telling him yet with everything going on,” she tells him, her eyes looking everywhere but at him and she pulls her hands back, hides them in her lap.

“Fe-li-ci-ty,” he growls, almost a warning. He knows he shouldn’t be rising his voice at her, but he is so mad, infuriated beyond reason. “How can you be so reckless about your own health? Are you waiting for the chip to shift further down your spine, or stop working altogether? What if it happens when you are down the street, getting a cup of coffee? What if you are driving William to school? What if you collapse in the shower, suddenly paralyzed?” The mere thought makes him sick with worry.

“Are you done?” she asks coolly, her eyes finally meeting his, but the warmth from before is gone. And no, he’s not, but he nods anyway. Her eyes hold his, a silent challenge, and he’s momentarily ashamed for losing it on her like that, especially when he urged her to be truthful with him.

“It hasn’t been exactly easy on me, Oliver. Not just the past week, but the past couple of months. So I’d appreciate some support here. I can’t just let everything drop on the spot and single-mindedly search for a solution to a possibly very complex problem. Not when I’ve got an injured boy at home who needs my help and support more than ever before. William needs stability right now. What he doesn’t need is that added stress and worry about me on top of what’s already on his plate. I won’t allow it. For now, the stimulant works. Not ideally, not a hundred percent reliably, but I manage. I am handling it, but all in its own time. And I would appreciate your support rather than a scolding.”

Their locked gaze holds for a moment longer, Oliver being the first to break their silent stand-off.

“It kills me to know this is happening to you. Again. That you are in pain,” he chokes out miserably, all of his previous anger gone, leaving only fear and worry in its stead.

His stomach is in knots. Her implant is the single thing standing between him and his guilt over what happened to her at the hands of Damian Darhk. The idea that it could stop working at any time leaving her incapacitated and vulnerable is unthinkable. The guilt for what has happened to her, how she’s forever affected by knowing him, by loving him, is enough to swallow him whole even after all of this time.

“I know,” she utters, her hands gripping his once across on the cool metal table. “But right now, I can’t afford to think along those lines. It feels selfish. It’s only so much what can be done from the outside. The problem is, even if the stimulant really got damaged in some way, there is only one way to repair it.”

She looks pointedly at him and it takes him a second to take in her words, to grasp their full meaning.

“I can’t just leave everything and take a hospital leave. I can’t get into the cycle of what could turn out to be a line of multiple trial-and-error operations. Without the chip, I would be wheelchair-bound again for God knows how long. It’s just not feasible right now.”

Not when her and William are alone, is what she doesn’t say. With him behind bars, there isn’t a person to take care of her, not the way she would need. To take care of William. Who still has his arm in a cast. And whom he’s left with only one parent to take care of. It’s not even about physical help and support either, Oliver knows that much. It’s been hard enough the last time, and they were in a good place back there, could take care of each other on a much more even footing.

“Please Oliver, you have to understand. I just can’t expose William to that kind of insecurity and vulnerability right now. He’s already lost his mother, now he’s lost you. There is no way in hell I am as much as planting the mere seed of doubt that he might lose me too.”

He feels weak in the knees, light-headed with the impact of her words.

“He wouldn’t be losing you,” he argues in a broken whisper. “You would be _healing_ , Felicity. William- he would understand. And he wouldn’t be alone. _You_ wouldn’t be alone either. We’ve got friends, family, acquaintances. I am sure John, Curtis, Dinah- even Rene would be more than willing to stay with you for a couple of weeks and help out.”

“And then what, Oliver?” She asks tiredly, like she’s had been through this argument a number of times already. Knowing her, she might have done exactly that in her own head.

“Once the implant is repaired – _if_ it is repaired, but for the sake of the argument, let’s say it will be or Curtis makes me a new one and it will be planted back into my spine –what then? You know how it was last time. There are no guarantees that it will start working right away. It might take weeks for it to catch on again, and there is not even the guarantee of that.”

And now he is really hearing her.  What she is trying to say, what she’s so desperately afraid of.

“God, Felicity.”

He can’t even go down that hypothetical road. Last time was bad enough. And he was there to shoulder whatever she needed him to. This time, he is not there, not even a remote chance for him to be there, and she won’t burden William with such a responsibility, his son who’s too good a person for his own good.

He covers his face with his hands, utterly lost for a solution to the situation. But it calls for one, it absolutely needs one. His wife needs him. She is hurting and scared and alone and he won’t stand for it. Leaving things like this is not an option.

“Please, sweetheart, just- talk to Curtis. _Please_. Let him run a diagnostic, at least. Let’s see what we are dealing with first here. Maybe it’s just a glitch, but we need to know the extent of the damage.”

“What if this is it?” Her voice trembles when she asks him, the fear that’s now so obvious bare and naked shining in her eyes.

”No.” He refuses to believe that. “You know you’ve had problems with the stimulant before. The EMP in the bunker blew it, but you were walking in a matter of hours afterwards.”

“Yes, but that wasn’t mechanical, Oliver. Or physical. What if- what if something physical got damaged further and the stimulant won’t cut it anymore?”

And he can hear it now, in her voice. God, she is so scared, his heart breaks for her. He doesn’t want to know how many nights she has spent lying and wondering, worrying scared and alone. He brings her hands to his lips again, presses kisses against her skin all over, his eyes holding hers firmly, willing her to believe things will turn out right.

“Then Curtis will do his magic and adapt or adjust his marvelous piece of technology,” he says at last, his voice holding nothing but absolute certainty. “But we are not there yet. Let’s find out how deep the damage goes before we jump to any conclusions, okay?”

She gives a tiny nod, momentarily lost in thoughts, but a look of resolve finally settles over her features and Oliver lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Times up,” Holmes’s voice interrupts from above them, his tone surprisingly gentle. “I am sorry, but you need to go, ma’am.”

Heavily, Felicity pushes to her feet, wobbling on her spot a little before she catches her footing. It merely serves to worry Oliver more.

“Just be careful, please,” he pleads with her.

She levels him with a smile. “Only if you are.”

His heart squeezes. “Deal.”

XXX

Lying on the cot in his cell later that night, Oliver knows this arrangement isn’t panning out.

He thought getting himself arrested would solve things. But they are nowhere near finding Diaz than they were months ago. His son is hurt, his wife injured and scared and his family needs him more than ever before. His sacrifice hasn’t resolved anything and he sees now how utterly pointless it was. He thought it would alleviate his guilt, would bring a feeling of justice towards the people he had wronged, people he has hurt in his crusade. But it’s his family, the people who are closest to him that are paying the price and that’s just not acceptable.

Maybe he could atone for his sins by helping save people’s lives as the Green Arrow. Maybe sitting around prison, utterly useless to anybody, was not the right way to go around his guilt. Maybe he would only pay for his sins by spending his life helping others. He would be ready to do just that. It would certainly make more sense, have more meaning than sitting here and twiddling his thumbs doing nothing and helping no one.

And he could be there for his family in the process. The way they deserved. Fulfilling the vows he and Felicity have pointedly not exchanged but ones that Oliver still honors.

He thinks back to Felicity, what he bore witness to when she left. The guard was already ushering him out his end of the prison, but he still got a glimpse of her back suddenly spasming in pain as she walked out the door, causing her to grip the doorframe.

The sight almost made him physically ill.

His mind is set. Somehow, he has to find his way out of here. She doesn’t deserve to live in pain and uncertainty because he – in a bout of boisterous self-sacrifice – tipped her hand. She doesn’t deserve this empty limbo of a life. She deserves to be loved and cherished, other than just from afar, from behind prison walls.

She is willingly taking in pain and uncertainty because she thinks she doesn’t have any other choice.

That’s not okay for Oliver, in any world or reality.

He calls Dig later that night, because his family needs him, his wife needs him, not tomorrow, not today, she needed him yesterday and he was not there, but that stops today.

“Dig? I need a favor. I need you to get me Samanda Watson on the phone.”

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the last chapter of my S06-S07 HIATUS fic. I admit, I planned for it to have much more chapters and cover much more topics, but as it is, I am a shitty slow writer, so there you go. :)  
> I still hope you enjoyed the story (let me know) and thank you for reading. Oh, and YAY for the next season to start in a couple of days!

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr as @leuska


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